


Courts, Crowns, and A Little Game of Chess

by waywardwriter



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 55,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardwriter/pseuds/waywardwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to diffuse the rising tensions between Akielos and Vere, Prince Auguste invites a group of Akielon ambassadors to the Veretian court. He expects many things to come out of this visit: trade agreements, festivities and celebrations, and perhaps the emergence of better diplomatic relations between the two nations. What he did not expect, however, was for his younger brother to take an interest in the Crowned Prince of Akielos.</p><p>AKA: The fic where Laurent is a reserved, bookish, hero-worshipping boy who meets Prince Damianos for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Encounter

The sound of clashing metal awoke Laurent from his book. He was sitting cross-legged underneath a large tree tucked away in one of the many palace gardens in Vere. It was his favourite resting spot, providing him with just enough sunlight and shade to be comfortable. Hardly anyone disturbed him here. Or, he supposed, no one could _find_ him here.

The harsh clanging continued in the distance. Laurent immediately began to run through the possible sources of the noise in his mind. An assassination or invasion? No. The fighting was far too loud and brash. It was also midday; only a fool would attempt to take action with the sun in the sky. He was in no immediate danger.

Laurent flipped to the next page of his novel and tried to immerse himself into the plot once more. He got through a paragraph before a series of sharp noises distracted him again. And again. It permeated the atmosphere, destroying the peace that was present just a moment ago. Laurent listened more intensely. Was that laughter? 

Laurent set his book down before getting up to investigate. He would be back soon enough, only needing to satisfy his curiosity before returning to his favourite spot. The sounds lead him down the garden trail, pass the rows of exotic flowers, and not surprisingly, to the single outdoor training arena on the green field.

In the distance, Laurent saw two soldiers sparring. He squinted his eyes in attempt to identify these two men. The reflection of sunlight from their swords, however, made it difficult. He wondered why any soldier would choose this place to practice. There was a location at the far end of the palace meant for training. As Laurent got closer, he spotted familiar blond hair and grey Veretian clothing. Realizing exactly _who_ the man was, Laurent crouched behind an artfully trimmed shrub. 

It was Auguste.

Laurent peered over the plant for another look. Auguste wielded a long Veretian sword in both hands, circling his opponent. In a sudden burst of energy, Auguste lunged to attack. The other man sidestepped away, swinging his own sword overhead in a wide and elegant arc, bringing it down with impossible speed. Auguste did not shy away; he raised his hands up to intercept the steel before disengaging. He took a few steps back and resumed a defensive position. The two men exchanged words and circled each other once more. They went back and forth like this. Attack, parry, counterattack. There was no clear winner.

Laurent could not help but notice the man’s physique. The stranger was extremely large, his strength built on pure muscle. Laurent had seen many challenge Auguste, with his older brother easily besting them each time. This man, however, seemed to be almost as good as Auguste. To reach his current skill, he must have honed his techniques through countless hours of dedication and regular training.

The man’s brown skin sharply contrasted the white chiton covering his body. A gold pin was clasped on his shoulder. _He must be Akielon,_ Laurent thought. Was he part of the group of ambassadors that were staying in Vere? He must be.

The tension and arguments between the Akielon and Veretian borders was not something of surprise. It had been going on for months, years even. When a string of villages were raided and destroyed in Delfeur – taken by Akielos only six years ago – both nations believed the other was at fault. The Akielon and Veretian Kings refused to take the blame and resolve the issue. War was imminent.

That was until Auguste intervened. He journeyed to Delfeur himself with a small entourage and sought the ones responsible. Once he discovered that clan raiders were the offenders, they were put on trial and executed. Auguste then sent an invitation to Akielos in hopes of finding resolution to their problems. Days later, the invitation was accepted and a group of Akielons were sailing to Arles.  

Yesterday had been the first night of celebrations. Truth to be told, Laurent did not remember much from that evening. He was far too overwhelmed by the amount of courtiers, strangers, and drunks around him to take note of every single person that passed him. All Laurent was instructed to do was stand beside Auguste and not talk – something he excelled at doing. He had no interest in meaningless conversations.

A sharp screech of metal refocused Laurent back to the fight and he balked at the sight. Auguste was on the floor, his sword far from his reach. The Akielon had his sword to his brother’s throat, standing above him. He looked like a bear, ready to devour its prey. Laurent stood up, hands clenched into fists, revealing himself to the two men.

Auguste, sensing movement in his peripheral vision, turned his head to Laurent’s direction. Laurent saw Auguste’s lips move – he was talking to the Akielon soldier – but couldn’t read what he was saying. Soon enough, the tall man met Laurent’s steady gaze as well. The Akielon’s eyes matched the colour of his skin, a rich dark colour.

“Good afternoon, Laurent,” said Auguste, amused. He was still on the floor, not phased by the undignified position. “Glad you could join us.”

Laurent stepped forward. He stood at the edge of the training arena, refusing to go inside. “I heard fighting and came to investigate.”

The Akielon man was even larger than Laurent anticipated. For one, he appeared bulkier than Govart, the biggest Veretian soldier Laurent knew. He was also about a foot taller than him. Laurent didn’t think he made it past his shoulders.

“I was showing our guest around the palace and thought it would be a nice idea to spar.” Auguste explained. He pushed himself from the ground.

“It is the weather for it,” Laurent commented. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he did not know who this guest was.

“This is Damianos,” Auguste introduced. “He is the Crown Prince of Akielos and will be staying in the palace.”

 _Crown Prince of Akielos._ “Hello, Prince Damianos,” Laurent said in Akielon and bowed for the appropriate length of time. But when he righted himself, he felt the circlet he always wore slip off his head. With great embarrassment, Laurent was helpless but to watch the crown fall on the ground, a loud _pang_ caused him to wince, and roll to Prince Damianos’ feet. Laurent stood there, frozen with shock. A mild sense of panic settled into his bones.

It was Prince Damianos that moved first. He bent down on one knee and gingerly picked up his circlet. He then used his white chiton to wipe away any dirt and dust before slowly approaching him. All Laurent could think was that he did not make it past his shoulders. In fact, he probably went up to his chest.

He held out the golden circlet, either as an offering or a mocking gesture. Laurent did not know. “Please,” said the Akielon Prince. He spoke the Veretian language well. There was only a slight trace of an accent. “Call me Damen.”

Laurent took the offending item from Prince Damianos – _Damen –_ and made sure to not touch his fingers. He could not find it in himself to look him in the eyes. He stared at the golden pin instead. There was a lion etched on it. “Is addressing each other in such a familiar manner not improper?”

Damen’s voice was warm, as if laughing. Laurent did not see what was so funny. “I intend for our countries to be friends. I think getting rid of formalities quickens the process.” He took a step away from Laurent. Laurent could finally breathe. “I should be heading off to clean up and meet with the members of my party.”

“Of course. Do you remember how to get back to your chamber?” August asked. “I have some business to attend to as well.”

“I do, thank you. I shall see you both in the evening.” Laurent watched as Damen disappeared behind the trees. He walked confidently, his strides long and powerful.

“Perhaps,” Auguste said lightly. “You should start paying more attention to the delegates that come to our court. A Prince of Vere should be observant to all that surrounds him.”

“Perhaps,” said Laurent, with the same airy tone, “A Prince of Vere should not engage in combat with delegates in the middle of a peace treaty. It is very unbecoming.”

Auguste motioned for Laurent to walk with him. They headed off down the garden path. “Damianos would not kill me. He has far too much honour.” 

“Father told us to be careful. We mustn’t be too open with foreigners.” He thought for a moment. “Now the Prince of Akielos knows he is able to defeat you in a fight.”

“If we listened to every word that comes out of Father’s mouth, there would be a large wall around our border to keep everyone out.” If anyone else spoke this way about the King, they would surely be charged for treason and executed. Auguste wrapped his arm around Laurent’s shoulder. Laurent, feeling a hint of affection and annoyance, let him. “I love our Father but his pride gets the better of him. He would never approach the Akielons directly, even to prevent war.”

Laurent felt a swell of contentment growing in his chest. It was Auguste who single-handedly achieved peace between two disputing nations. Not their Father. “You will be the best King Vere has ever seen.” The raw honesty of Laurent’s words caught him by surprise.

Auguste gave him an odd look. “Oh? You have such confidence in your older brother?”

“Of course,” Laurent looked up at Auguste. His hair almost glowed under the sunlight. “I would give up my life for you.”

Auguste stopped walking and they stood there, staring at each other. He gave Laurent a soft, private smile and ruffled his hair. “You are _intense_ , little brother. Keep talking this way and you’ll chase all your suitors away.”

Laurent’s blood went cold. “Who said I wanted suitors?” The thought of overtly sexual and demeaning commentary about his body left a sour taste in his mouth. He would much rather be alone.

“They will come no matter how hard you resist.” They walked onwards. Auguste spoke in a tentative manner. “Many people have already shown acute interest in you. Don’t tell me that no one hasn’t caught your eye already.”

The image of a certain foreign Prince flashed before his eyes. Laurent violently pushed the foolish thought away. He spoke with him for less than a minute. “Absolutely not,” Laurent said. “I just turned seventeen. The talk of marriage should be focused on you.”

Auguste shook his head and Laurent narrowed his eyes, feeling wary of the expression on his face. That was how Auguste looked when he knew something Laurent did not. “Come,” his brother said. “We must speak to Father about tonight’s seating arrangements.”

 

* * *

 

It was another night of needless festivities. Laurent and Auguste sat beside their Father, watching an Akielon performance filled with dancing, flames, and music. _It is tradition_ , Laurent reminded himself. _Look interested and be attentive._ He felt hot under his tightly laced Veretian clothing. The high collar forced Laurent’s head up, making him appear confident. It helped Laurent project the image of a cool and collected Prince.

Laurent glanced at Auguste, the epitome of regal bearing. He was strong, tall, loyal and kind – all the attributes to make a great King. Even as a Prince, everyone loved him. The Crowned Prince Auguste of Vere, heir to the throne; the nation’s pride and joy. Laurent on the other hand…was small. He was not as outgoing, preferring solitude and quiet.  He lacked his brother’s easy charm and charisma. He wasn’t a good swordsman, and could not command an army. 

There was clapping all around him and Laurent automatically brought his hands up to applaud. The performance was over and the servants were clearing the space for the next act. Auguste turned his head to look at him. Leaning over, he whispered, “You ought to look more interested. The night has just begun.”

Laurent cupped his hand over his mouth so no one could read the words off his lips. “I find it difficult to sit still.”

Auguste patted his hand, a sympathetic gesture. “I know, Laurent. Why don’t we go riding tomorrow afternoon? I’ll race you.”

Laurent smiled, a genuine one, excited to feel the wind in his face. “I’ll win.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The night continued as both Veretian and Akielon performers took turns displaying the best their respective cultures had to offer. As the entertainment drew to an end, the two Princes were dismissed to mingle with the people. Father retired for bed. Laurent made sure to stick close to Auguste and let him do all the talking.

Auguste was in the middle of discussing the many different types of cloths with a merchant named Charls when someone caught Laurent’s eye. It was Damen, dressed in another white chiton. This time, he had a red cape draped over his shoulder, the golden pin keeping everything in place. He was currently talking to the Lady of Fortaine.

“Isn’t that right, Laurent?”

Laurent cursed himself for being distracted. “Yes, of course.”

“That is just _lovely_ to hear!” Charls smiled brightly. “I would be honoured to provide you cloth for the winter season, Prince Laurent. You are far too kind.” The cloth merchant bowed and left. Laurent couldn’t find it in him to be angry with his brother. He deserved that.

“You’re usually well behaved at social events,” Auguste noted. “Just make sure Father doesn’t notice.”

“I’m well behaved because I don’t speak,” said Laurent, eyes tracking Prince Damen’s movements. He just finished speaking with a courtier and turned towards them. Laurent looked away before they made eye contact. He felt the urge to excuse himself but decided against it. There was no need to run from the Prince of Akielos. “I would like to keep it that way.”

Damen stopped at a respectable distance. “Good evening, Prince Laurent.”

Laurent found it odd that he addressed him first. People usually lavished Auguste with warm welcomes before speaking to Laurent, an afterthought. “No greeting directed to my brother?”

Damen raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid Prince Auguste is occupied at the moment.”

To his left, Laurent saw Auguste with a group of courtiers. He had somehow detached himself from Laurent unnoticed. Dread and a sense of acute betrayal coursed through Laurent’s body. “I see.”

“I did not mean to disturb you,” Damen began. “But I could not help but notice your hair among the crowd and wished to come speak with you.” And after a pause: “The colour is quite rare in Akielos.”

Laurent touched a lock of the fine golden strands. “So it is my _hair_ of all things that you wish to start a conversation with? Do your best, it won’t reply.”

He was satisfied when Damen, evidently flustered, said, “Of course not. I only meant – ”

A servant came over, carrying a plate of wine. Both princes declined. “I take no offence,” Laurent said coolly. Perhaps all Damen cared about was his looks. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. “It is not something new. I have come to understand that my features are avidly discussed by the people in court.”

Laurent expected a snark remark or an agreement to his statement. He thought of the handful of men and woman that tried to woo him the moment he was of age. The excessive touching, superficial and bleak conversations, and preconception image they built of Laurent – a pretty, fragile, simpleminded boy – disgusted him.

“Is that attention welcomed?”

Startled at the question, Laurent told the truth. “I find it too forward for my taste.”

Some kind of emotion flickered in Damen’s eyes. “You of all people deserve more than blatant acknowledgements of your features.”

“And what is it that I deserve?” Laurent asked.

Damen said, “For one, to be treated with the utmost respect.”

At once, Damen’s presence was too much. Laurent did not know what to say. He could not remain composed for much longer. “I apologize, I’m beginning to feel unwell.”

Laurent cut through the crowd of people, mumbling more apologizes. The guard standing in front of the door let him through and he walked out to the balcony. Laurent breathed in fresh air and willed the beating of his heart to slow down. He stood near the balustrade, eyes concentrated on the sky above him. The stars were magnificent and bright.

No more than a few minutes later, the door behind him opened, letting a burst of music and chatter reach the balcony before it became muted once again. Laurent turned around, expecting Auguste or Damen, but it was neither.

The servant bowed. “I was sent by the Prince of Akielos to inquire about your health.”

Laurent closed his eyes for a moment. “Tell him that I wish to rest.”

“Is that all, Your Highness?”

Laurent stared at his feet. “That is all.”


	2. The Bet

Laurent picked up the black bishop and moved it diagonally by two squares. He leaned back against his chair and reached into the fruit bowl for another orange. He lost six pieces against Auguste. His brother, in turn, had lost more than half of his pieces. The white queen would be Laurent’s in two moves. Cornered with no viable way out, Auguste would be pushed into a checkmate in five moves. Perhaps four if Auguste decided to move his rook to protect the king. Six, if Auguste sacrificed a pawn to save his queen’s bishop. In the end, it made no difference. 

The impending victory pleased him.

“Laurent,” said Auguste.

Laurent refused to look at his brother. Instead, he bit into a slice of the sweet fruit and said, “Make your move.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Auguste moved the knight. Laurent would win in four moves. “What for?”

“Don’t play coy. I know when you’re upset.”

Laurent reached over the board and moved his black queen forwards, sealing the fate of the match. “If your goal was to humiliate me, you’ve accomplished it.”

Auguste placed a hand on Laurent’s forearm, as if to soothe a cat with raised hackles. “It was never my intention, Laurent. I was letting you socialize. We both know you need the practice.”

Laurent used his free hand to knock down the white king. He won. “I am perfectly able to converse with others. I just never had the incentive.”

The library doors opened and Laurent tore his eyes away from the game. Damen walked in, wrapped in a chiton that was held up with two straps. His leather sandals weaved themselves in his calves, clinging to the taut muscle. In lieu of the golden brooch on his shoulder, he had a golden laurel around his head. It was similar to the circlet that Laurent wore, a symbol of royalty. Laurent, feeling a wave of self-consciousness, resisted the urge to adjust the band on his head.

Laurent was unaware that they would be entertaining the Prince of Akielos today.

Auguste, who was the only person in the room besides Laurent, stood up and bowed. Since it was customary, Laurent did the same. “Good morning, Damen. I hope you slept well?”

Damen gestured for the both of them to sit back down. “I did. The room was more than fine. I thank you for your gracious hospitality. Actually, I came here to –”

The doors opened again, letting a small draft inside the room. This time, it was one of his Father’s soldiers. “Prince Auguste, the King and the Council summons you.”

Auguste stood up. He no longer held himself in the easy, carefree manner of an older brother, but with the seriousness of a Prince ready for duty. “Is it urgent?”

“His Highness does not wish to reveal the nature of the subject.” 

Auguste nodded. “Very well. I will go with you.”

“I thought we were going riding.” The words just came out. Laurent had not meant to say them. All at once, it was as if Laurent was nine again, upset at the fact that he could not follow Auguste on a boar hunt. At this point in life, Laurent ought to remember that his brother, Crowned Prince of Vere, had more important things to do. 

Auguste’s lip was a taut line.  “I’m so sorry, Laurent.”

The time they had for one another was getting sparser and sparser as the days passed. Laurent knew that this bothered Auguste as well. If it weren’t their Father calling for him, Auguste would have said he was unavailable.

Knowing this didn’t stop Laurent from crossing his arms and saying, “It’s fine. I never wanted to go riding anyways. There are other matters I could attend to.” It was a lie. His most recent task had been to organize and analyze all the reports on the Veretian domestic markets, and he had finished that two nights ago.

Auguste, who practically raised Laurent, saw through him. He went around the table and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. Into his ear, Auguste said, “You could always invite someone else.”

Laurent drew back and schooled his expression. “I would rather not.” Auguste left with the guard.

Laurent was alone with Damen. The man who appreciated his golden hair.

The Akielon Prince stood in the middle of the room, not speaking to Laurent, but taking in the library. Laurent watched him do so, observing his every expression of awe and wonderment. It was the largest and oldest in Vere, thousands of the finest volumes, collections and resources lined up shelf after shelf. Every surface was covered in miniature gold designs. The ceiling was decorated with famous paintings and intricate mosaic patterns. Only a selected few were entitled of viewing such a cultural and historically significant monument. Some guests found the space overwhelming, too grandiose. Damen did not seem bothered by it at all.

“Was there something you wanted?” Laurent asked somewhat reluctantly. He didn’t want to speak first, but he couldn’t stand the lengthening silence.

Damen did not answer him. He responded with a question of his own. “Are you feeling better?”

Laurent stopped peeling his orange. He thought of the servant last night. _I was sent by the Prince of Akielos to inquire about your health._ “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

“Are you certain?” Damen persisted. “You left in a hurry.”

Laurent placed the orange down before he squeezed it too tightly. He was unsure of what to make of Damen. The servant last night was sent out of pure obligation. Did Damen think that Laurent was weak and could not handle himself? Or was this sincere query? No one had bothered speaking to Laurent with so much… insistence. “I simply wished to retire early.”

“If you ever –” 

“There is no need for further questioning,” Laurent rushed the words out. “Was there something you wanted?”

Damen rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders. “I have no meetings,” he said, softer, as if that was all the explanation Laurent needed.

Although Laurent preferred to spend his time alone, it would be undiplomatic to dismiss one of the most powerful people in his court. “If you wish for a place to rest, the Veretian library is yours to use.”

“Thank you,” Damen smiled - he was always smiling - and came up to the table. He settled in the chair across from him, where Auguste sat before. “I don’t mean to impose.”

Laurent kept his tone civil. “You haven’t.”

Damen’s hands were relaxed on the table. Laurent’s were clenched together in his lap. “I’ve been meaning to visit the library but always found myself somewhere else. The hallways in your palace are very complex. I had to ask multiple servants to find my way here.”

Laurent indulged him in conversation. Just this once. “And how complex can they be? You simply walk through them.”

Damen’s lips curved upwards. “It is as simple as navigating your way through a labyrinth. A man can only do so much before getting lost when every corridor and archway differ in pattern, shape, and size.”

Odd. People typically had the opposite problem. “I’m sure you’ll manage, given time. It would be a shame if a man of your rank were bested by architecture.”

Damen laughed, the sound caused a surprise twisting sensation in his stomach. Laurent shifted in his seat. His elbow knocked some chess pieces on the ground. It seemed that Laurent could do nothing but drop items on the floor in front of Damen.

Just as Laurent moved to bend down, Damen had already retrieved the fallen pieces. He placed them in the correct place on the chessboard, familiar with the layout. Laurent let him do it, a spark of interest flickered in his mind. “You know chess, Damianos?”

Damen glanced up at Laurent. “I do. How long have you been playing?”

“Long enough.”

Damen was unfazed by the short answer. “Who taught you?”

“Auguste,” the thought of his brother drew a smile from Laurent. “He wishes he hadn’t. He can never win anymore.”

Damen asked, “How well does he play?”

“He was the best,” said Laurent. 

Damen put an elbow on the table and leaned in. “You’re that good?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Laurent still remembered the time he beat Councillor Guion at the age of fourteen. Guion boasted about his so called ‘advanced strategic skill’ and Laurent challenged him with Auguste’s encouragement. Guion agreed, assuming it would be an easy match. He was wrong. The overconfidence allowed Laurent achieved checkmate in three moves.

“Is that a proposition?”

Laurent flushed a deep red and coughed into his sleeve. He led himself into a trap. If it were someone else, Laurent would get up and leave the room. Something was preventing Laurent from doing just that. Perhaps it was the underlying curiosity of Damen’s capabilities in Laurent’s favourite game.

“I’ll use the black set.” It was the colour he always chose.

Damen blinked, uncomprehending. “But then you have the disadvantage.”

“Only if you don’t know how to win.” If there was something Laurent could be confident about, it was chess.

“Are you sure? Not to intimidate you, but I am quite experienced.”

“I am not someone who would feel intimidated by an Akielon.” Laurent said, voice sharp as a knife. Of course Damen would think he was inferior. After all, everyone at court thought he was inferior. Laurent shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Damen’s eyes widened. “I don’t mean to insult your skill. It is the last thing I would do.”

“You have a wonderful way of demonstrating the fact.” Laurent retorted. First Auguste cancelled their plans, and now he had to deal with this _barbarian_. “If you think you can defeat me so easily, there is no point playing.” He braced his hands on the armchair, pushing himself up. He would go read in his bedroom without distractions.

Damen put a hand up, stopping him. “Laurent –”

“You take liberties,” Laurent said. “I never gave you permission. Don’t assume you’ve earned that privilege.”

“Prince Laurent,” Damen amended. “I have misstepped, and that is my wrongdoing.”

“True,” said Laurent. 

He continued. “As of now, I believe that you are not keen on being in my company.”

“True,” Laurent repeated. He did not hide his distaste with niceties. 

“Let me prove myself to you,” said Damen. “Let’s make a bet.”

Laurent was on guard. “A bet?”

“Yes,” Damen went on. “I would like to challenge you to a game of chess. If you win, I will make myself scarce from your presence. You will not see me aside from official meetings, banquets, and tournaments.” Then, “But if I win, all I ask is for a day.”

“A day for what?” Laurent asked.

“To do an activity together.” Damen replied, a trace of confusion in his tone.

Laurent’s mind picked over the proposal as if he were choosing fruit at a market stand. “And what _activities_ will we do on this day?” 

Damen’s gaze was steady. “Anything that pleases you.” His face appeared open, but Laurent couldn’t be sure. Vere was known as the nation of façade for a reason. How was he to know if this Akielon had ill intentions? What if the Akielon asked for a tour of his bedchamber?

“Consider the theoretical possibility that I lose.” Laurent didn’t like saying those words out loud, but he had to know. “Will I be coerced in your company?”

“No.” 

Laurent was not convinced, troubled by the simple answer. All his life, he was accustomed in deciphering motives, piecing together fragments of complex conversations of Veretian people. Damen spoke in a straightforward manner. Honest.

Laurent took a slow breath. Besides Auguste, no one had honesty. It was likely that Damen only made this bet assuming that Laurent was incapable of winning. His words and promises could be all lies. Laurent would win and make him eat his words. If Damen pushed Laurent in anyway he disliked, a guard was only a few steps away.

“I accept.”

Damen offered his hand. Laurent carefully placed his palm into the Akielon’s and they shook. The warmth of Damen’s hand spread to his own. He noticed that his hand was almost twice Laurent’s size.

The match begun.

Damen moved his first pawn to King four. It was a common opening; one to which Laurent responded with his own pawn: a Sicilian Defence. Damen advanced his king’s knight, wanting to assert centre control. Laurent chose another pawn, moving it forward only one square. This not only protected Laurent’s first pawn from an attack, but it also prevented Damen’s pawn from advancing down the board. His eyes flickered to Damen’s face, noting a slight change in expression. Some part of Laurent was pleased. He was not someone to be underestimated.

Laurent took a pawn with his knight. Damen’s knight recaptured while simultaneously attacking another black pawn. Laurent swiftly moved his knight to defend it. This was a good move, for it secured one of Damen’s pieces in place. He could no longer attack without losing the white knight. Damen retaliated by bringing his other knight into play, putting pressure on Laurent’s chessmen.

This sequence of moves was textbook. Now that they were developing their pieces, Laurent could finally gauge Damen’s skill. He glanced up at him, wondering what kind of player he was. He had never faced an Akielon before, much less the Crowned heir. Laurent decided to remain in a defensive position. He wanted to grasp Damen’s playing style before making any aggressive, large-scale attacks.

Laurent was determined to win. He was hit with the image of Auguste, lying on the ground. Helpless. This wasn’t about the bet. Laurent had a point to prove, not only to the Akielon, but to himself. 

The two princes fought, their swords sharpened with mental acuity, the battlefield brought to the chessboard. It was a war Laurent knew how to fight.

A few more turns in, Damen castled on the king’s side, freeing the rook. Laurent stared at the board, analyzing. His mind raced back and forth, going through every potential move in his mind. What would give him the advantage? How could he control the centre?  

Damen used his white bishop to fork Laurent’s rook and knight. Laurent paused, mind whirling. He did not expect that move. He was tempted to react instinctively and take the bishop with his pawn. By doing so, he would win the exchange and white would have fewer pieces on the board. Laurent entertained that fantasy before disregarding it. Taking the bishop would allow Damen’s queen and rook an opening to advance. Laurent’s king would be left in a vulnerable position.

Laurent moved his queen’s rook instead. A versatile piece, it would both defend and attack at Laurent’s will. He tasked it to attack the king, freeing up his black queen for offence.

Damen left his bishop alone. He moved the white queen diagonally three squares, sacrificing his knight. Laurent took it. Damen now moved the bishop and attacked two of Laurent’s pieces.

Laurent had to tread carefully. One wrong move and Damen’s two rooks would bring about his demise. 

Once again, he was in a quandary.

With reluctance, Laurent admitted that Damen was a worthwhile opponent. His way of playing was surprising and unpredictable, moving pieces and taking risks Laurent would have never considered. Whenever Laurent glimpsed at a potential check, Damen would act accordingly and prevent it from happening. It brought Laurent to the edge.

Laurent scanned the board, looking for an opportunity to check or to capture a piece. When he found one, he brought his queen beside the bishop. This ensured that Laurent’s queen was in no danger. Damen took Laurent’s last knight and Laurent moved his queen up to check the white king.

The game developed. Pieces disappeared all over the board. Sacrifices were made on both ends. Damen pushed onwards and Laurent stood his ground.

It was not until Laurent lost a pawn before he realized that Damen had a winning attack. He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. An oversight like this was how games were lost. If Damen moved his rook, Laurent would be in serious trouble. Just as Damen reached for it, he smiled.

Having been emotionless throughout the match, Damen looked up, startled. He eyed Laurent suspiciously. Laurent presented himself as eager, pleased with Damen’s next move. Damen looked back down at the board and, after a long pause, moved his queen to check. Laurent pushed his rook one square to the right, blocking it with ease. A part of Laurent felt guilty. What he had done was a juvenile boy’s trick; an act of psychological manipulation. But then again, he was determined to win.

Damen used his rook to take Laurent’s pawn. Laurent moved his king to capture the rook. The Akielon checked, and Laurent retreated. He checked again, Laurent retreated. They kept going: Laurent defending, Damen attacking. It was not until Damen had more pawns than other pieces, did he looked up at Laurent again.

Laurent became conscious of the fact that they had not spoken to one another since the start of the game. Damen broke the silence. “You _are_ good.”

The praise in Damen’s voice, the appreciation, made Laurent flush into his collar. He straightened his back and avoided eye contact. All the other opponents Laurent had faced either left the match midway, or accused him of cheating. It was one thing to know that he was a good player, it was another thing entirely to hear it from someone else.

Laurent caught himself subtly adjusting his laces and stopped. He said, “It’s your turn.” He had to stay focused.

Damen moved. Black queen took the white queen. White rook took the black queen. There were no more queens on the board. Damen now had a rook and a handful of pawns. Laurent had a bishop, a rook, and two pawns. This was the most pieces Laurent had ever lost in a match. The end was so close, the players were evenly matched. For once, Laurent was not completely confident about who would be victorious.

Damen’s king made its way across the board. Laurent followed with his own king. The turns went faster now, with so little pieces left to handle. Rooks battled each other, Laurent’s bishop putting pressure on the king. And then suddenly Laurent’s king was isolated. Damen’s rook chased it.

Check, avoidance. Check again, another piece blocked it. Check, it was evaded.

Laurent moved his bishop to the corner of the board, making room for his pawn to advance. Damen moved his pawn forwards, in an attempt to capture Laurent's black pawn.

And, to Laurent’s shocking realization, there was an endgame. He slid his pawn forwards one square and waited.

Damen had both elbows on the table, looking down at the board. Laurent waited. Damen moved his king, allowing his rook and pawn to defend it. It was a futile move. Laurent moved his pawn to the end of the board and promoted it to a queen. Damen’s rook took the queen, though it did not matter to him. Black took the white rook. Damen only had pawns, isolated and scattered across the board, unable to help their king. He was defenceless against Laurent’s rook and bishop.

Laurent waited.

Damen made eye contact with him. “I resign.” 

Laurent nodded and found that he was smiling, shyly. He sat even straighter in his seat. “That…” he searched for his words. He found none. He felt light as a feather, his bones vibrating in his seat.

“That was the best game I had ever played,” Damen continued Laurent’s sentence, grinning. “No one in all of Akielos has impressed me this much. You have a sharp, brilliant mind for strategy. Well done, Prince Laurent.”

“You play with _finesse_ , Damianos,” Laurent could not restrain the glee in his voice. The game had been intense. Exhilarating. “It was an honour to defeat you.”

As those words left Laurent’s mouth, something changed in Damen’s expression. His grin turned into a polite smile as he got up from the chair. Laurent looked around. It was dark. A servant must have lit the candles without them noticing. They had been playing for hours.

“It’s late and I must return to my room,” Damen said. “I bid you a goodnight. As promised with your victory, I shall leave you be.”

Laurent stood there as Damen walked away from him. The Akielon Prince did not hold himself as he usually did: head high, back straight, shoulders squared. His steps were smaller...lingering. Shoulder’s slumped.

Just as Damen was pulling the door open, Laurent heard a chair scraping the floor. He wasn’t aware that the noise came from him until he uttered the one word on his mind. “Wait.”

Damen turned around, hands still on the handle of the door. His eyes were bright underneath the candlelight. “Yes?”

A wave of dizziness flooded his body. His stomach twisted again. Laurent must have stood up too quickly. “Meet me at the stables tomorrow at the stroke of seven. You have your day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laurent and Damen's match was heavily based on one of Robert Fischer and Mikhail Tal's games in 1959. 
> 
> On another note, I am /overwhelmed/ by the amount of comments, kudos, and support this fic has gotten! Hope this new chapter was worth the wait :)


	3. A Day with Prince Damianos

The palace in Arles was always quiet in the morning. Laurent walked through the corridor, feeling the rays of sunlight pass through the windows and warm his skin. He saw specks of dust floating in the still air. The absence of servants, soldiers, and nobles milling about in the halls refreshed him. This hour allowed a semblance of privacy, which meant he could relax his posture, loosen his shoulders, and even swing his arms as he walked. He could even hear the echo of his footsteps, a soothing and relaxing sound. 

Laurent made his way to the stables. He was wearing his finest riding leathers, chosen from the pile of ensembles he laid out on his bed last night. Instead of his usual blue doublet, he chose a set that was distinctly Veretian in design but slightly looser around the arms, shoulders, and waist. Despite the distinct high collar, it was breathable. The material was also much softer and the laces did not cinch his skin; there would be no angry red marks imprinted on his skin when he undressed for bed at night.

Laurent had only worn the outfit once before – he accompanied a foreign dignitary for a stroll in the gardens when Auguste was sick. Riding, integrated in his daily routine, did not merit such luxurious clothing. He was unsure why he felt the impulse to wear it now. Perhaps Jord, the soldier assigned to accompany him on his rides, would appreciate it. But of course, Laurent knew another viable reason for his choice of outfit. It was one that he was reluctant to dwell on.

He was going to spend a day with the Prince of Akielos. A day of _activities_ that he had voluntarily agreed to partake in. Laurent knew very well that spontaneous decisions were rare from him. He did nothing without weighing in the advantage and disadvantages, or analyzing motives beforehand. Nonetheless, Laurent had stood up and gave Damen his day. He remembered focusing on the way Damen’s eyes lit up, reflecting the flicker of the candle flames. 

He had considered missing their rendezvous several times, well aware that he had the ability to cancel plans. Even right now, he could send a servant to Damen’s chambers, explain that he does not wish to see him, and be done with him.

Laurent decided against it. Backing out would be an act of weakness, like surrendering before a battle had even begun. Laurent would not allow Damen to believe that his presence bothered him, or that he remotely cared about Damen in the first place. In addition, Auguste _did_ tell him to converse more with the delegates in court. Damen fit in that category. Placating the Akielon with a few hours of his company would most likely ease the trade negotiations.

Vere, unlike Akielos, didn’t have a competitive advantage when it came to producing agricultural goods. The northern soil couldn’t sustain enough crops to feed the nation, which was growing rapidly in population. The lack of rain made trading a necessity. Akielos could provide the agriculture in exchange for Veretian metals – there was an abundance of mines along the eastern border. All in all, trading was mutually beneficial for both parties. It could lower prices, allow their domestic producers to specialize, and make their economy more productive and efficient. One day with Damen could ultimately result in a more prosperous Vere. Laurent would do this for the good of the nation.

Pleased with his conclusion, Laurent unlatched the lock on the stable’s wooden door and pushed it open. When the stable boy saw Laurent, he dropped the shovel he was holding and bowed. It was clumsy and unpracticed. Laurent smiled politely – he appreciated his efforts – and dismissed him to his work. 

The majority of the horses were awake, heads buried in hay and feeding. Laurent looked at each one appreciatively as he made his way to the last stall. There, he saw his white mare. She neighed in greeting and came up to him. She nuzzled her nose against Laurent’s chest, asking for a petting.

“Hello, Éloise.” Laurent greeted and gently stroked her neck, running his fingers through the soft coat. Laurent reached into the small traveling bag he brought and presented an apple. Éloise ate it eagerly. Once she was done, she budded her head against Laurent’s sides, searching for more. With a small laugh, Laurent guided her nose away. He did bring two, but the other one would be for after the ride. His horse was spoiled rotten.

White horses were bred specifically for the Veretian royal family. These horses were carefully paired to guarantee the inheritance of the desirable traits that defined a good horse: strength, agility, and grace.

Éloise huffed in Laurent’s face as he took a brush and combed her mane. She was getting rather large, Laurent noted, only a couple years from reaching her prime. He smiled to himself, remembering the time where she was the size of an alaunt hound.

Laurent was seven years old when Éloise was born. He had been in his room, copying phrases in the Veretian language as an assignment from his tutor to improve his cursive. Auguste appeared at the door and asked Laurent to follow him. “I have a surprise for you, little brother,” he had said.

Hand in hand, Auguste guided Laurent to the stables, where he found a small white foal settled in the hay next to the mother. It was all limbs, unable to do anything but blink at him with wide eyes. In a few hours, she would be standing on wobbling legs. It was probably the most wonderful thing Laurent had ever seen in his life.

“She’s yours,” Auguste told him, kneeling on the ground so that they were the same height. “An early birthday present.”

Laurent couldn’t take his eyes off the mare. _His_ mare. “Father said I couldn’t get a horse until I was ten.”

Auguste ruffled Laurent’s hair, a familiar gesture, and grinned mischievously. “Then we keep this between ourselves.”

Laurent, both hesitant and delighted at the thought of disobeying their Father asked, “Will you help me raise her?”

“Of course.” Auguste smiled. “Have you thought of a name yet?”

For the next few months, Laurent and Auguste went down to the stables everyday. There, Auguste thoroughly explained different types of equipment along with their functions. He used his own horse to point out the anatomy, speaking of joints, ligaments, and hooves. Laurent learned rapidly, absorbing all the information.

They broke her in together. Éloise, filled with energy and spirit, quickly learned directional cues such as turning and halting. Then, she learned how to lead, a process that required much patience from both Princes. Laurent recalled the first time he mounted on Éloise’s back. Auguste had to lift Laurent because he hadn’t been tall enough to swing his leg over the saddle.

Now, Laurent was fully able to mount a horse by himself. At least, any horse of Éloise’s size. If provided a bigger one, Laurent would be forced to use a mounting block. He made sure Éloise was always in health.

With that thought, Laurent finished combing her flank. He left her side for a moment to gather the equipment needed for the trip. He secured the saddle, ensuring that the straps were not too tight. Once that was done, Laurent moved his attention to her mane again. He parted the silvery hairs into sections and began braiding each piece into intricate knots. His fingers worked deftly, looping the strands together with ease. He had memorized over fifty patterns from an instruction manual he found in the library. Each day, he tried to use a new technique. Laurent made a note to himself to research more patterns to try for tomorrow.

“Beautiful.”

Laurent recognized that voice. Steeling himself, he turned around to face Damen. The Akielon was dressed in a white chiton. It was like all the chitons he wore, except that the edges were embroidered with a black meandros pattern. It was the most decorative fabric he had seen Damen wear, excluding his ceremonial red cape. He was holding a large woven basket in one hand.

“The horse, I meant.” Damen quickly added after he was met with silence. “Is she yours?”

“I wouldn’t saddle someone else’s horse,” said Laurent, still observing the object Damen held in his hand. 

“Right.”

Laurent took in a breath. “I believe your stallion is two stalls to the right. Please make haste, I intend to depart soon.”

Damen went over to his respectful stall and saddled his black stallion. The horse was enormous, most likely to accommodate its large rider. Laurent, having nothing else to do, watched him work. He worked with the efficiency of a soldier, methodically tightening straps and checking its tightness on the horse’s body.

The basket was on the floor beside him. Why would Damen need a basket? He racked his brain to try and figure out what was inside of it. Weapons were out of the question. That was what sheaths were for. Maybe it was empty. Did Damen wish to collect rocks and flowers by the stream? It was unlikely; children did those things, not grown men.

“You appear deep in thought,” Damen said. He had finished saddling his horse and was leading him out of the stall. Laurent did the same with Éloise.

Laurent pointed to the item in question. “What’s in the basket?”

Damen smiled. “A surprise.”

“What if I told you that I’m not fond of surprises?”

The stable boy opened the door that would lead them to the courtyard. All Damen said was, “I vouch that it’ll be something you like.”

Laurent made no further comment. He spotted Jord waiting next to the gate with his own horse.

“Good morning, Jord.” Laurent said as they approached the soldier.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” Jord bowed, hand on his heart. He rose and eyed Damen curiously. “Exalted,” he acknowledged. “I assume you will be accompanying Prince Laurent today?”

“He will be,” Laurent said before Damen could speak. “And you will escort us.” Jord widened his eyes before quickly repressing the action. Laurent heart fluttered with panic at the realization of what he just said. He phrased that sentence horribly, alluding to something Laurent did not want to think about.

“Very well,” Jord said. “I’ll go ask the guard to open the gates.”

Laurent distracted himself by stroking Éloise’s neck. He refused to look at Damen until the heat of his face returned to normal. At times, he wished that his fine skin did not reveal colour so easily.

Two guards reeled open the gate and stood at attention. Laurent placed a hand on his saddle’s pommel and was about to heave himself up when he noticed a distinct presence behind him.

Laurent looked back at Damen. “What are you doing?”

A beat later, “Helping you on your horse.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “I have been riding since I was five years old and have had my own horse since the age of seven. Are you trying to insinuate that I’m not capable of mounting and dismounting my horse without the assistance of another individual?” The embarrassment he felt a moment ago dissipated to annoyance. He looked at Damen’s saddle work. “Your girth looks a bit loose. Instead of helping me, you should fix it.” 

Without bothering to see Damen’s reaction, Laurent swung onto the saddle and nudged his toes into the stirrups. He settled himself in his seat and held onto the reins with perfect form. He wheeled Éloise so they faced the open gate that lead them to the Great Northern Forest situated at the back of the palace.  

Damen and Jord both mounted, joining him.

“How fast is your horse, Damianos?” Laurent asked. He looked ahead at the trees and open field.

“Fast.” Damen said.

With that, Laurent put his heels into Éloise’s side and urged her to a sprint.

It was a marvelous day for riding. The sky was an azure blue colour with clouds of brilliant white dotting the sky. The grass beneath him swayed with the wind and the leaves of trees rustled. A gust blew through Laurent’s hair, sending his blond strands flying back and away from his face. His heart thudded with adrenaline as his mare galloped at full speed. 

Memories of his childhood at Chastillon flooded back, as it always did when Laurent was on horseback. He and Auguste raced one another for hours on end Auguste used his white stallion while Laurent had a grey pony. Laurent won every time, boasting about it with unhampered enthusiasm to his Father during evening meals. It was until Laurent was nine years old did he realize Auguste was letting him win. It took a week of consoling and treats from Auguste before Laurent got over it.

Laurent could see in the corner of his eye that Damen was catching up to him. His black stallion’s legs were powerful, thick with muscle that permitted longer strides. Laurent stayed focused, tightening his hands on the reins as they raced towards the forest. He knew that Damen’s horse was faster than his own and kept a steady pace, unwilling to push Éloise to exhaustion for the sake of winning.

They were side to side. Although Damen was able to speed past him, he stayed beside Laurent. Laurent eyed Damen, who was sure and steady in his saddle. Damen turned his head towards Laurent at the same time. Their eyes interlocked. They held it until they entered the forest, trees restricting their vision.

Laurent brought Éloise to a slow trot, patting her neck. When the mare had enough time to cool down, Laurent swung down. He took the rein in his left hand and watched Damen dismount. 

“I believe you don’t understand the meaning of a race,” Laurent commented. “You could have won.”

Damen grinned. His hair was windblown and mussed. “Why win when I find it more pleasurable to ride alongside you?”

Laurent flustered. He didn’t know how to respond to that.

Jord stepped forward determinedly. “Would you like me to attend Éloise, Your Highness?” 

Laurent silently passed his horse to Jord’s waiting hand. Then, Jord took Damen’s horse, for it would be impolite to not do so. Dame unhooked the woven basket attached to the saddle and then gave the reins to Jord.

“I hope that you intend on revealing the purpose of this basket,” said Laurent.

Damen tilted his head, a dog gazing at someone with a quizzical expression. “You’ve surely had a picnic before.”

Laurent pictured himself eating around a table in the gardens. “Everyone has eaten outdoors. I don’t see the need for such a big basket.”

Damen chuckled. Laurent could not decipher the expression in his eyes. “If we find a scenic view, I’ll let you open it and see what’s inside.”

“Very well,” Laurent said. “Lead the way.” 

 

* * *

 

 

At first, the walk was a silent affair. Laurent stared at the pathway in front of him, helpless but to feel awkward. He raked his brain for conversational topics, but they were all related to governing and politics. Surely Damen would be uninterested in discussing the rising cloth taxes. 

This was the first time Laurent had accepted the invitation of a person outside of the political business. He was unsure of the etiquette required. He should have stayed in the library to research.

“You’re smiling,” Laurent noted. They hadn’t even spoken and Damen was already smiling. It irked him.  

Damen turned his head to look him. “Is a man not allowed to smile?”

“My issue is that you are always smiling.”

The Akielon waved off Laurent’s comment. “It’s nothing.”

“Surely it’s something,” said Laurent.

“You named your horse Éloise.” It was more of an observation than a mocking statement.

Laurent crossed his arms, his muscles tensing. “And what of it?”

“You may not like what I think.”

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “Try me.”

“I find it charming. I had never thought of naming my horse.” 

Out of all things, Laurent was not expecting _charming_ to come out of Damen’s mouth. He willed his voice to be steady. “And why not? They are living creatures that devote themselves to you. Any animal that accompanies and serves you deserve the right to a name; they are no tool. Unless, you do not believe that animals should be treated with respect.”

He waited, preparing himself to rebuke the first words of protest that came out of Damen’s mouth. Laurent never had the chance. “You make a good point.”

“I do?” He couldn’t contain his incredulity.

“I’ve never thought about it that way,” said Damen. “Maybe you could help me name my horse. He needs one.”

“I’ll think about it.”

There was a stream up ahead; the flat and slippery rocks near the bank glistened in the sunlight. Jord, managing three horses, left the trail and led them towards the water for a drink.

They were alone. 

“Would this be an acceptable place to rest?” Damen asked.

Laurent had never been to this section of the forest. It was a very pleasant view. “It’s adequate.”

Damen offered the basket to Laurent. “You can open it now.”

Laurent lifted the flap. A wool blanket was at the surface, covering what was beneath. Just as Laurent took it out, a delicious aroma of spices and sweet fruit reached his nose. Inside was someone that could only be described as a feast. Laurent was impressed by the abundance of Akielon food that the basket could hold and how it was not ruined during the ride.

Two golden goblets and a bottle, presumably wine, were tucked into a corner. Laurent hesitated at the sight of it. He disliked the taste of wine and its bitter aftertaste. Thankfully, he had never had enough to feel the symptoms of dizziness and disorientation that Auguste described many times. Why anyone would voluntarily get drunk was unknown to him.

Another thought claimed Laurent’s attention. He surveyed the grounds, making sure he was assessing the area correctly. “Where are the tables?”

“There are none.” Damen pointed to a shaded area beside the water. “We sit there.”

Laurent had snacked on fruit beneath the small trees in the palace gardens, but never had a meal on the ground. Laurent imagined a picnic to be the same as dining indoors, but with different scenery. “Do the Akielon royalty frequently dine on the floor?”

Damen did not appear offended. “No, not at all. This is something soldiers or friends might do together.” Laurent jerked his head up at the word. Friends? Was that what they were? Damen rubbed the back of his neck, eyes shifting away from Laurent’s. “Do you have any objections? If you would rather –”

It was evident that Damen had gone through thorough preparation for today. The food itself must have taken a long time to gather. Despite the wine, Laurent was surprised by what Damen had done. And he had done it, for Laurent.

An odd feeling bloomed in Laurent’s chest, pressing at its sides. “There is no need. Let us sit down.”

Damen took the blanket out of Laurent’s hand and spread it out to cover the earth. He beckoned Laurent to sit beside him. Laurent lowered himself, settling so his legs were relaxed in front of him, one of his knees bent. His back leaned against the bark. The sound of rushing water and gleams of sunlight that passed through the leaves were enjoyable.

Damen brought out the goblets first. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know you dislike red wine. I brought an alternative that you might find agreeable.” He poured a pale yellow liquid into the two cups. Laurent didn’t recognize the drink.

After a pause of hesitation, Laurent accepted the cup and took a small sip. It was very different from red wine. This was much sweeter. The subtle undertones of flavour intrigued him, dancing across his palate. There was also an odd tingling sensation on his tongue, what Laurent could only describe as sparks from a fire.

Laurent looked down at the drink. “What is this?”

“It’s Veretian, made by the finest winemakers in the north. I was told that people call it sparkling wine.” 

“It’s lovely.” Laurent said. “And to think that you’re more knowledgeable about Veretian drinks than the Prince of Vere himself.”

Damen beamed, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “I should not take too much credit. I had some help.”

Laurent took another sip. “Give them my thanks.”

The picnic consisted of a variety of Akielon foods, all modified into small portions. Cutlery was not needed. Laurent listened as Damen explained all the components of each dish and their origins. There was meat between slices of bread, seasoned with peppers and crushed herbs found in the south. Laurent was fond of the crumbles of salty cheese layered inside the bread, vastly different from the soft and buttery Veretian cheeses. Next, a tray of sweets was presented to him. Sweetmeats, figs stuffed with almond paste and honey, and slices of apricots and oranges were among the many things Laurent consumed.

Laurent never knew that a day with Damen would be like _this –_ unhurried and peaceful. Damen spoke expressively and explained many aspects of Akielon culture that Laurent did not obtain from reading. In return, Laurent shared the differences and intricacies found in Veretian culture. They went back and forth, sharing information about the other nation.

Conversation eventually subsided, the silence no longer uncomfortable, but one of repose.

“I must admit,” Damen said. Only a sprig of grapes remained. Damen held them in his palm, plucking one off and placing it into his mouth.  “I did not expect today to happen. You had every right to be angered by my actions yesterday.”

Laurent thought over his response. Birds were singing up in the branches, filling the air with song. “You sulked,” was all he said.

Damen did not deny it. “I thought I lost my opportunity.”

Laurent gave a humorless laugh. “To what? Get in my bed?” 

“No,” there was patience in his voice. “To get to know you better.”

Colour rose to Laurent’s cheeks. “There isn’t much to know. I am Prince Laurent, younger brother of the heir to the throne.”

Damen sat up, no longer leaning against the tree beside Laurent.  He turned to look at him intently. “You are more than your relations with your brother. You are your own person, composed of unique likes, dislikes, and idiosyncrasies.”

“Some talk for a man who knows nothing about me.” Laurent observed.

“I hope you give me the chance to change that.” Damen, who held only one more grape, raised it in offering directly in front of Laurent’s mouth. 

Laurent, who didn’t anticipated such close proximity, flinched back in surprise. His fingers lost grip of the empty goblet in his hand and fell out of his grasp. It clattered against the plates. 

The snapping of branches and heavy footsteps made Laurent whip his head around, startled at the sound. A figure revealed itself from behind a tree. It was Jord.

“Your Highness!” Jord skidded to a stop. “What has the Akielon done to you?” His hand was on the hilt of his sword, eyebrows furrowed.

The goblet lied innocuous between Damen and him. Damen’s hand was still hovering in the air, holding the grape. Laurent was mortified. “Stand down, Jord. I am not harmed.” 

Jord stood, taking the sight before him – Damen, Laurent, the blanket, and the goblet – before releasing his grip on the sword. “My apologies.” From Jord’s tone, Laurent assumed the contrary. “You must understand that I must exceed maximum precaution. Our Prince’s safety is priority.” 

“All is forgiven,” Damen said, lowering his hand.

Jord cleared his throat. “I see that you both have finished your meal. Is it time to return to the palace? Prince Auguste may worry. He knows your morning rides are never too long.”

 _I promised him a day_ , Laurent wanted to tell him, but did not. Laurent had forgotten the purpose of this trip. The time Laurent gave Damen was supposed to satisfy the Akielon and to persuade him to be more generous during negotiations. Not to...he didn’t want to finish the thought.

Laurent used the trunk to push himself up. “We should head back.”

“As you wish.” Damen rolled the wool blanket and placed the goblets inside the basket. He got up and took the reins back from Jord.

The three of them trekked out of the undergrowth, Jord in front of them as Laurent and Damen followed. On horseback, Laurent set a slow galloping pace back to the palace. Damen, on his stallion, had a thoughtful look on his face. Laurent looked back at the forest with its green leaves and tall wild grass before turning his head back towards the palace.

The gates opened, granting them entry. Damen dismounted even as the horse was moving. He landed on his feet and jogged a few steps to absorb the impact of the drop. Laurent remained ahorse. He did not see why Damen was in a rush to get to his feet. Was he going to run inside the palace? Laurent thought over the morning they had. Wariness trickled down his neck. Did something go amiss?

Laurent sat very still as Damen came closer. Damen allowed Éloise to scent him.The mare rubbed her nose against his chest. She liked him. “May I assist you off your horse, Prince Laurent?”

The courtyard was empty. Jord was conversing with a guard. Laurent never allowed anyone besides Auguste or his physician to touch him - handshakes were the only exception. Overt contact with others was improper for a Veretian royal. Laurent thought back on how Damen wanted to help him mount his horse. Perhaps this was an Akielon tradition that Laurent was unaware of. He had already denied Damen’s request the first time. He should allow it now, to prevent offending Damen.

Laurent stared at Damen. He could not help but linger at his chest, his arms, the calloused fingertips. He shook those hands, before their chess match. _You wanted to hold on for longer._

He pushed back any protest his mind conjured up and nodded. “You may.”

Laurent swung a leg so both were on one side of Éloise, sitting as if he were a Lady riding pillion. His pulse sped up, skin buzzing in anticipation of what he was about to do. Damen had his arms outstretched, waiting. Laurent balanced a hand Damen’s shoulder that was covered with the chiton. He ensured his hands touched nothing but the cloth. Damen’s muscles were firm and flexed underneath, a clear defining shape. He was surely much stronger than him. Closing his eyes, Laurent jumped down. Damen immediately brought his hands up to Laurent’s waist, supporting. Its size was startlingly large in comparison with Laurent’s waist, covering it completely. In a second, it was over. Laurent’s two feet touch the tiled floor, light as a feather. Damen retracted his arms and stepped back. 

Laurent placed his hands behind his back so Damen would not see them fidget. “Thank you.”

Damen opened his mouth to speak, but Jord, who appeared at Laurent’s side, was faster. “Will you ride tomorrow, Your Highness?”

“Yes, Jord.” The dismissal was clear in Laurent’s voice. With one final bow and a pointed look in Damen’s direction, the soldier was gone.

“He’s loyal,” Damen commented.

They brought their horses back into the stables. Laurent, methodically undoing the straps of the saddle, said, “He also believes I require protection from every being that crosses my path.” 

Damen, having finished unsaddling his horse, came over to Laurent’s stall. Damen leaned one arm on the wall, posture relaxed. He could feel eyes on where his fingers worked to undo the braids in Éloise’s mane. “He must have good reason.”

“ _Exalted._ ” 

An Akielon man of Damen’s dark colouring stood at the door. He held several scrolls in one hand. A golden pin, smaller than the one Damen wore, signified his close allegiance to the Akielon Prince. 

Damen straightened his back, knocking over a pail of horse feed in his haste. The clattering reverberated in the small room. Laurent’s lips twitched, suppressing a smile. “Yes, Nikandros?”

“There are several reports that you must read and sign for tomorrow’s meeting,” said Nikandros. “I was made aware that you were not in the palace in the morning. A Veretian soldier told me to come to the stables.”

“You could have left the documents on my desk,” said Damen.

Nikandros flickered his eyes over to Laurent. “May we discuss in private?” 

The Akielons had a silent conversation that Laurent could not decipher. Finally, Damen let out a sigh and said, “I’ll be out in a moment. Meet me at the stairwell.” 

“Yes, Exalted.” Nikandros went out the door.

“I must leave,” said Damen.

Laurent took a brush and ran it through Éloise’s silver hair. “I am aware.”

“I…” Laurent tilted his head to look at him. They were in the same stall, the space barely fitting a horse and two princes - especially when one took up half the space. “I wish to tell you that it has been my pleasure to accompany you today on your ride.” And then: “I would not oppose to a rematch in chess to gain another.”

Laurent thought it over, understanding what Damen wanted. And perhaps...perhaps Laurent would enjoy another game. It would be a stimulating mental challenge. There might be something Laurent could learn from Damen. Strategically speaking.

“I as well,” Laurent said, slowly, tasting the words on his tongue. “Your Akielon is waiting for you. Go.”

Damen stepped out of the stall. “I hope to see you soon, Prince Laurent.” And with that, the door closed, hinges squeaking.

Laurent went back to Éloise, taking extra care as he refilled her feed and put away all his equipment. He took out the last apple and fed it to her. And although Laurent should be thinking of his schedule for the day, he could not rid the image of the forest nor the taste of sparkling wine from his tongue.

Laurent wasn’t sure what to make of the slight smile on his face. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry for the late update! Exams are a week away and I'm frantically trying to balance everything. The moment exams are over, this fic will receive my full attention!
> 
> I wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who commented/kudo-ed/bookmarked etc this fic! I love your support :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed Damen and Laurent's first date <3


	4. Interlude: Blond Hair, Blue Eyes

Damen found Nikandros, true to his word, by the stairwell. Nikandros paced back and forth, the long chiton common near the northern border swept around his legs. His hands were tight around the scrolls, crinkling them.

The sight of Damen brought Nikandros to one knee. “Exalted.”

Damen waved for him to stand, an impatient gesture. “Rise, Nikandros. You know we don’t use titles in private. What’s the matter?”

Nikandros rose to his feet. “We have a meeting with King Aleron tomorrow about the new trading routes. Our points of discussion have not been finalized.”

Damen could not help but feel slight disappointment. He thought there was a pressing issue. “You worry too much,” he said. “It will take no more than thirty minutes to write a final draft.” He wondered if he could go back inside the stables. Laurent, in his tall leather boots and high Veretian collar, was most likely still tending to his horse. The white mare he named Éloise. Damen could bring apples. That might put him in Laurent’s favour.

“Damen.”

“Yes. Sorry,” said Damen. “You were saying?”

“You wouldn’t pay attention even if I repeated myself,” said Nikandros. “You’re distracted.”

Damen scoffed. “I’m not distracted.”

“So you were not thinking about a prince with blond hair and blue eyes?” Nikandros crossed his arms as he waited for a response. When Damen couldn’t provide one, he continued. “You told me that the documents would be finished _yesterday_. I went into your chambers and found them untouched. There wasn’t even a pen on the table.”

Damen sighed and leaned against the wall. The cool touch of stone soothed his skin. “I –”

Nikandros interrupted him. “ _Damen._ An alliance between Akielos and Vere is of utmost importance. It is our first priority. Don’t lose sight of this.”

“I know. Akielos always come first.” Damen pushed off the wall and slung a hand around his friend’s shoulder, hoping to placate him. They made their way up the stairs. Damen thought of the stables. Laurent would have to wait. “Let’s finish the documents now.”

“Akielos did not come first last night,” said Nikandros, rather grudgingly. “You were too busy preparing for your outing.”

“Nonsense,” said Damen. “I spent at most ten minutes.”

Nikandros dislodged Damen’s arm from his shoulder. “That was because _I_ was the one who retrieve the sparkling wine, collected the food from the kitchen, found the wool blanket from the seamstress, looked for a basket large enough to –”

“And for that,” Damen interjected. “I am in your debt. You are a great friend, Nikandros.”

“I should have closed my door the moment you asked for a favour.” Despite the tone, Damen could see humour in Nikandros’ eyes.

They reached Damen’s chambers. The two Akielon guards saluted and opened the doors to let them through. Once inside, Damen placed the large basket on the floor and looked around. He would never grow accustom to the excessiveness of Veretian décor. The floors were tiled with different patterns, lounging couches were artfully placed in the corner of the room, even his four-post bed was overhung with coloured silks. The windows, currently vaulted shut by gold grills, let in the afternoon sunlight. He would have to ask a servant to open it; he wanted fresh air.

“How was the Prince of Vere?” Nikandros asked once they settled around a long table. Damen brought out the documents and spread them out. “I’ve heard the rumours.”

Everyone in Akielos knew of Laurent’s reputation. People claimed that he was aloof, callous and cold-hearted. He was known for refusing every suitor that crossed his path. He was ice, the polar opposite of his older brother. Laurent became a challenge for whoever was brave enough to approach him. Damen, who could not help but find appeal in a challenge, took interest.  

When Damen set his eyes on Laurent for the first time in the outdoor training arena, he could not believe that one man could possess such beauty. Song and poetry could never do him justice. Not even a gold statue sculpted by the best Akielon artist could showcase his magnificent cheekbones or his small elegant nose. On the dais during the second night of festivities, Laurent radiated confidence and surety. Yet, when Damen had spoken to him, he was hardly the man Damen expected. Laurent was nothing but shy, blushing at Damen’s every word. He could barely hold eye contact. They had two minutes of conversation before he left, leaving Damen more curious than he had ever been in his life.

Damen thought of their chess match. In those hours, Damen had not only learned about Laurent’s preference of fruit, but had gotten a glimpse at his sharp mind. Laurent’s cleverness and intelligence was almost as breathtaking as his features. It took all of Damen’s will to not stare at him the whole game. In the end, he had lost. Damen would never have expected the outcome to be in his favour.

He had never felt so anxious about taking someone on a picnic. It was a fairly common activity in Akielos, and at times, the first step in Akielon courtship. He was unsure what Laurent would think of it. There were also many opportunities for disaster. What if their food had been spoiled during the ride? What if the horses had gotten loose? Damen pushed those thoughts away; there was no use pondering about the past.

Their morning of picnicking and horseback riding was nothing short of delightful. Laurent had allowed the picnic, had seated himself beside Damen, and opened himself to everything Damen brought for him. Laurent’s embrace of Akielon cuisine did not help with the tight feeling in Damen’s chest. Sitting underneath a shaded tree, Damen would have given everything to tuck a strand of blond hair behind Laurent's ear and tilt his head for a kiss. It was evident, with Laurent’s constant fluster and pink-stained cheeks, that he was not ready for that. Damen was willing to wait.

“The Prince of Vere is extraordinary,” Damen said at last. “Reserved. Timid, mostly. He is everything I hoped for, and more.”

“You spent one morning with him.”

“And I pray I’ll spend more. Did you know he’s never had a picnic before?” Damen would love to watch Laurent experience new things. Had he ever been to Akielos? He was aware that Laurent enjoyed the outdoors. Damen could bring Akielon flowers, or show him the architecture of the south. He would do anything to get Laurent to smile at him.

Nikandros didn’t look up from his paper. “Probably too busy dining on gold tables.”

“On the contrary, I believe he enjoyed it.” Damen repressed a smile. Laurent enjoyed it enough to grant him another day. Damen would need to find another excuse to go to the library.

“And what happened to being focused on the alliance?” Nikandros said, amused.

Damen finished writing a paragraph and dipped his pen into ink. “If Laurent returns my affection, the negotiations between Akielos and Vere would be much easier.”

“That is true,” Nikandros acknowledged.

Damen grinned. “See? I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s exactly what I was afraid you’d say.”

“Nikandros, my brother. Don’t you have faith in me?”

Nikandros raised an eyebrow. “In the battle fields? Yes, you have my confidence. But when your romantic pursuit involves the Prince of a rival nation? I become concerned.” Before Damen could open his mouth, Nikandros raised a hand to stop him. “I cannot stop you from courting him. If you do, understand the implications of your actions. He is not a man that you bed and leave the next morning. If something goes amiss, if you anger him in any way, you are responsible for the repercussions.”

Damen appreciated Nikandros’ council. His concerns were fair. “Of course,” said Damen. “I understand.”

They worked in silence. Damen threw all his focus into preparing for the meeting. He drew detailed maps, noted the most economical and convenient paths for both land and sea, and came up with a reasonable schedule that should not cause any issues. When Damen finished, the sun began to set.

“Only thirty minutes?” Nikandros teased. They worked for at least five hours.

Damen clasped Nikandros’ shoulder in response. “Let me be. You’ve gotten your documents.”

Nikandros stood up and gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll show the others what we’ve accomplished. Thank you, Damen.”

Just as Nikandros opened the door, Damen stopped him. “Nikandros?” 

His friend turned around. “Yes?”

“Do you think I have a chance?”

Nikandros looked at him. There was only truth in his eyes. “The fact that the Prince of Vere has not thrown you out of the palace is a good sign. You have a heart of gold, Damen. He would be a fool to not see it.”

The doors closed, leaving Damen to his own devices. Alone, without the need to be Prince Damianos of Akielos, he took off his gold laurel. He observed it in his hand. Gold laurels were crafted in the sacred olive gardens in Ios. They were made by stripping two olive branches from a tree, tying them together, and dipping them into liquid gold. Each branch had twenty-four leaves to represent every hour in a day, and how, its bearer must serve Akielos until their last breath.

The laurel also had other connotations. Like marriage. Damen had the sudden image of Laurent, trading his gold circlet for a laurel wreath. He thought of Laurent’s hands, fingers intertwined with his own. Damen’s heart skipped a beat. Too soon. He was going too fast. He was not even allowed to call Laurent by his given name. Yet.

 _There was still time_ , Damen reassured himself. He would make time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed a little bit of Damen POV ;)
> 
> Again, I wanna say thanks to everyone who's been keeping tabs on this fic, leaving kudos, and of course, sending encouraging comments! <3


	5. Presents

Laurent lifted a burning candle near the red wax. The flames wrapped itself around the stick and created small droplets. They landed on the ivory-coloured paper, slow and mesmerizing. He could feel the heat on his face. Once the droplets merged into a small coin sized puddle, Laurent put down the candle. He waited a few moments for the wax to solidify and firmly applied the King’s seal to the document. Satisfied, he placed a copy of the official Veretian report, a monthly newsletter sent to each province detailing Vere’s economical and financial state, at the corner of his desk.

Laurent turned his attention to a blank sheet of paper. With careful precision, he began to write the letter in a neat, loopy font. It was a repetitive task that Laurent had been doing since his prepubescent years. He did not despise it – unlike Auguste who was more than happy to pass over this responsibility. The mundane task required little cerebral attention and therefore allowed Laurent the time to reflect over the past and coming weeks. With the Veretian and Akielon tournament approaching, he welcomed the opportunity for quiet.

The upcoming event had already sent Arles into a frenzy. An anxious but earnest energy quickly enveloped the palace. All around him Laurent could sense the excitement in the air - from the palace servants who littered the hallways as they over-polished the floors, to the soldiers rigorously practicing in the arenas, and to the local marketplaces packed to the brim with people eagerly surveying the new merchandise brought in specifically for this occasion.

Laurent had done his fair share of preparation as well. He meticulously planned out a dozen escape routes and hiding spots around the palace. He hoped his forethought would allow him to avoid as much social interaction as possible. Laurent had no interest in competitions and tests of strength. Nor was he interested in getting the attention of pompous soldiers hoping to win his affections. Besides Auguste, there was no one worthy to watch.

 _What about Damen_? Laurent had only seen him fight with a sword. He was unsure of his expertise with other weapons. With such a large physique and tall stature, Laurent would not be surprised if Damen managed to excel at everything. He could do well in the javelin, Laurent supposed. Laurent knew from first hand experience that Damen had the muscle for it.

A smile was forming on Laurent’s lips when he froze. He repressed it with a frown, uncertain as to why he was thinking about Damen in the first place. This was not the first time Damen derailed his train of thought. Their picnic together was always on his mind. It was becoming an inconvenience.

There was a knock on the door.

Laurent straightened his posture. “Come in.” At the sight of Auguste, Laurent relaxed. His older brother held a bowl of apples and oranges in one hand. “I thought you had a meeting at this hour.”

“It finished early,” said Auguste as he brought another chair over to Laurent’s desk. “Damen is a very efficient man.”

“I’m sure he is,” said Laurent, tone steady.

Auguste smiled. “Organized, fair, open-minded. I’ll enjoy working with him in the future when we are both kings.”

Laurent shifted in his seat. He averted his attention to something else. “What is the fruit for?”

Auguste raised an eyebrow. “I thought you requested it. I came to your room and found this at your door. ”

“I can assure you, I did not request this.” Laurent took the bowl from Auguste to inspect it. There were no markings, no messages, nothing. The species of fruit were common in Vere, most likely from the palace kitchen. But who would leave him a bowl of fruit? “Odd.”

“I’ll ask the palace guards if they’ve seen anything suspicious. 

“No need to investigate,” said Laurent. He was in need of apples. Éloise finished her last one yesterday. And Laurent...he would not mind a light snack. “You’re busy enough as it is.”

Auguste reached out a hand to ruffle Laurent’s hair and Laurent let him. “Never too busy for my little brother.”

“Yes, of course,” said Laurent, rolling his eyes. “Now what would you like to tell me?”

“Must I always have a reason to visit my brother?” Auguste asked, voice theatric. It was how Auguste talked to Laurent when he was a small child, giggling at every word.

“No,” said Laurent. “You always cross your arms when you have something to hide. Don’t deny it.”

Auguste uncrossed his arms. “You’ve always been the observant one.”

Laurent shrugged. “I know you.”

Auguste ran a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath before saying, “A deal has been made between Patras and Vere. I am to marry the youngest princess in two years time.” 

Laurent stilled. There was a moment where neither of them spoke, Auguste’s words hanging in the air.

“When was it settled?” Laurent asked at last.

“The morning Father asked for me in the library. The letter of agreement was sent off this morning.”

Laurent had always known that he and his brother would be married off at Father’s convenience. Afterall, the most valuable asset a monarch had were their heirs. A royal marriage was the most efficient kind of business arrangement - one that Laurent begrudgingly knew Vere needed. A marital alliance with Patras coupled with long-term trade agreements between Akielos granted Vere the stability it needed to grow and expand. 

Despite all the advantages of Auguste’s marriage, Laurent did not want it to happen.

“Have you met her?” Laurent had only seen King Torgier’s eldest daughter.

Auguste shook his head. “I am to see her when she comes of age next year.” And then, “I hear she is beautiful.”

Laurent hated that word. “Flowers and gold vases are beautiful. Is she literate? The last thing you need is a princess that stays in your bed and orders the servants about.”

Auguste furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m sure that the King of Patras has more dignity than to send an uneducated woman to Vere.”

Laurent made a noncommittal sound. “You place too much good faith in others.” 

“And you, Laurent, are too much of a pessimist.” 

“If I am to be legally bound to a stranger, I have good reason for my pessimism. Father is most likely planning my marriage as we speak.” Laurent could not imagine himself getting married or making an heir. Dread settled in Laurent’s stomach like a rock sinking to the bottom of the sea. 

“There’s no need to worry,” said Auguste. “You are under no obligation to marry.”

A boyish hope flared at Auguste’s words, but Laurent stopped himself from getting too far. “What do you mean?” Laurent’s words were cautious.

Auguste placed a hand on Laurent’s shoulder. “I know your stance on marriage and have spoken to Father. He has his objections, but my agreement to marry the Patran princess placated him. If you choose to marry, it can be to anyone that wins your heart. The choice is yours.”

It was more freedom than Laurent could comprehend. It was more than Laurent deserved. Laurent had never felt so much affection for his brother. Only Auguste would argue with Father for Laurent’s sake. “Thank you,” Laurent whispered. He couldn’t think of what to say. “I - ” 

“All I want is for my little brother to be happy.” Auguste stood up and placed a quick kiss to Laurent’s head. “Just promise me something?”

Laurent looked at him. “Anything.”

There was a glint in Auguste’s eye. “The next time someone asks for a favour, say yes.”

Laurent gave his brother a sceptical look but uttered his agreement nonetheless. Auguste smiled before he turned to leave Laurent’s room. As Laurent watched the door close behind his brother’s back, all he could wonder was what did Auguste know that he didn’t? 

 

* * *

 

It was drizzling outside; the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops was audible underneath the palace roof. The sound created a soothing atmosphere, bringing Laurent some peace of mind.

Books were scattered around Laurent in a half circle. They were the ones Laurent planned on bringing to his chambers to read during the tournament. He had a diverse selection, ranging from history volumes to instructional books to one that explained different breeds of horse. 

Laurent began ordering them in neat piles when a young servant entered. He bowed and waited for Laurent to let him approach. When Laurent granted permission, the servant came forward and knelt. He offered Laurent a package wrapped in a red cloth. “I am to present you this gift, Your Highness. Will you accept?”

Laurent looked at it with disinterest. It was a rectangular bundle wrapped in red cloth. He had been receiving similar _offerings_ for years. He lost count of how many jewels, handwritten notes, and other meaningless items he had rejected. Laurent was about to wave the bundle away until gold etchings of a lion caught Laurent’s eye. Red and gold.

“Put it on the table,” said Laurent before he changed his mind. His pulse sped up - an involuntary reaction. Laurent stared at the present until he heard the distinct click of the door closing. He checked his surroundings to ensure he was alone before taking it in his hands. 

Without opening it, the dimensions and weight indicated that it was a book. What genre? What author? Laurent wanted to go through all the possibilities but anticipation got the better of him. He picked up a corner of the cloth and peeled it back.

It was simply bound, the front and back cover made from quality leather. The smell of it mixed with ink entered his nose. Laurent opened the book, handling it as carefully as he would handle a skittish mare. The book was new. There was no title. No author. The words were in Akielon.

Laurent was proficient enough in Akielon to understand basic conversation. He knew formal greetings and had sufficient vocabulary to give the impression of fluency. Reading the language, however, proved to be more difficult. As he flipped through the pages, he recognized a few words but not enough to create a coherent sentence.

Laurent traced the golden lion adorning the book’s cover with a finger. This was Damen’s doing. He had no doubt about it. The fruit in front of his door must have been Damen as well. He was the only Akielon Laurent had spoken to more than once.

But why? The trades had been going smoothly. Surely Damen knew that bribing Laurent provided no upper hand at the negotiation table. To mock Laurent? Maybe Damen knew Laurent couldn’t read Akielon well and…. It didn’t make sense. Nothing Damen did made any sense.

An odd fluttery sensation arose in Laurent’s stomach - something that Laurent had begun to associate with Damen. He had never felt anything like it. It was a mixture of unreasonable anxiety and unwarranted excitement.

Laurent set Damen’s present along with the other books he wanted to bring up to his bedchamber. Enough about Damen. Laurent would be seeing him tonight at the pre-tournament feast. There, Laurent would confront him about the presents. If they were insulting in anyway, he would make Damen regret stepping foot into Vere. And if they weren’t, well, Laurent would cross that bridge when it came.

 

* * *

 

Joyous chattering and laughter filled the grand hall. An endless supply of meat, fruit, and cheese was served to the many Veretian and Akielon tables. Wine was flowing, bread was being shared; it was everything Vere hoped for in this gracious new relationship with Akielos.

Laurent brought a sliver of rabbit to his mouth, ensuring that he maintained an impeccable posture. It was not a hard feat; his traditional Veretian ensemble was so tight and heavily laced that he could barely move. The dark blue material was stiff from the gold embroidery. The collar was high, never allowing Laurent to look downwards - one of the few annoyances of Veretian clothing.

Auguste, who was sitting to Laurent’s left, was in deep discussion with two members of the Council. He looked at ease at the Veretian table, so unlike Laurent who was rigid as a rock. Laurent glanced at Father, who was situated at the end of the table. He was murmuring something to Lord Guion.

The Akielon table was across from Laurent. He had a clear view of them, all dressed in white chitons with a golden lion pinned to their shoulders. Damen, adorned in the same rich coloured cloth that wrapped around Laurent’s book, was the only man who stood out. The golden laurel atop Damen’s head contrasted his dark curls.

Damen spoke to Nikandros. It appeared to be an animated conversation. Damen’s hands were expressive as he told a story, painting images into the air above him. Laurent was too far to hear what they were saying. At one point, Nikandros burst into laughter. It was not until Damen slapped the soldier on the back that Laurent noticed how close they were sitting together.

Laurent narrowed his eyes when Nikandros clasped his hand on Damen’s shoulder. It stayed there. Ice seeped into Laurent’s veins. Started by the awareness that his nails were biting his palm, Laurent forced his hand to relax. He took a controlled breath. This feeling was off-setting.

And then Damen looked up. Blue eyes stared into brown. Laurent could not look away, break contact. A soft smile bloomed on Damen’s face, a wave of warmth melted the coldness Laurent had felt just moments ago. Laurent’s chest tightened, a blush creeping out of his collar. His laces must be too tight.

“Are you alright, Laurent?” Auguste’s voice snapped him back. “You look a bit red.”

Laurent turned his head to the side where no one could see his face. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just hot.”

Auguste refilled Laurent’s goblet with water. “Maybe you should get some fresh air afterwards.”

“Actually,” Laurent signalled for a servant to take his plate. “I’ll make my leave now.” He was sure the courtiers would whisper and conspire about his absence. Laurent did not care about court gossip. With a short nod to Father, who dismissed him from the hall, Laurent made his way to the palace gardens.

The night was cool, a slight breeze blowing into his face. The sky threatened to rain but Laurent was not concerned about getting wet. He went down the stairs, taking deep breaths. Whether Damen and Nikandros were friends, soldiers, or lovers meant nothing to him. Damen’s gifts were a jest, a false courtesy. Laurent should have known better. He should have dismissed the book the moment he saw the Akielon colours.

“Prince Laurent,” someone called. “Wait!”

Laurent turned around, ready to admonish the intruder.  

It was Damen. His bright eyes shone under the moonlight. His mouth pulled tight in worry. Something tugged at Laurent’s gut and he pushed it down. Not now. Not in front of him.

“I never asked for your presence, Damianos.”

Damen did not falter. “Tell me to go and I will.”

Laurent clenched his teeth. “I thought I just _did._ ”

“You have to say it with intent.”

Insects buzzed in the distance. Laurent said nothing.

A hand was in front of him. “Care to take me for a tour? I haven’t had the chance to see the gardens.”

There was a choice laid in front of Laurent. It was the same situation he found himself in a few nights ago in the library. But this was not the same as a chess match. Something between them had changed. In the few short days since their first encounter, Damen had morphed into a beacon, some kind of entity that Laurent found hard to resist. So really, the choice was already made.

Laurent placed his hand on Damen’s forearm. At Laurent’s touch, Damen grinned. It was the same smile he gave to Nikandros. Laurent flickered his eyes down to his feet.

They made their way down the winding path. “I’m sure your Akielon _companion_ will miss you at the party.”

Laurent felt Damen’s eyes on him. “There is nothing I would rather do than spend time with you.” 

“Yes,” said Laurent. “You have made that quite evident.”

Laurent let the night distract him from the warmth of Damen’s arm. A small part of him hoped the walk would not require talking. Laurent found that the more time he spent in Damen’s company, the harder it was to hold himself together. He did not want to misstep, or say something he would regret.

“The tournament begins tomorrow,” said Damen.

“That is why we had a feast tonight,” said Laurent.

“Will you be competing?”

“No.” And then, “I’d rather not have people question my athleticism.” In truth, Laurent was not the strongest swordsman. If placed in a precarious situation, his skills would allow him to defend and flee at a given opportunity. He was a decent archer but needed silence in order to hit the target. He would not perform well in front of a screaming audience. Not like Auguste.

Damen shrugged. “Not everyone needs to be good at fighting. With your smarts, you’d win a battle before it even began.”

“That’s quite a statement,” Laurent commented. The tight feeling in his chest came back.

“One I wholeheartedly believe in.”

A turn to the left and they entered the flower garden. There was a statue of Laurent’s late mother atop the fountain. It was sculpted five years ago, after the mourning period came to a close. Water spewed out, the sound of running water washing out the music from the palace. It was Laurent’s safe haven.

Laurent directed Damen’s attention to bush with white flowers. “These are my favourites.” He had no idea why he felt compelled to tell Damen such a personal detail about himself.

“They’re beautiful.”

“More than that,” said Laurent. “Did you know some of the same species bloom during the winter? I admire their resilience. They survive when everything else dies.”

Damen reached over and plucked one of them from the bush. He faced Laurent and offered it to him. “I admire _you_.”

Laurent did not move. He could not think.

Damen took a small step forward. The flower was small in Damen’s hand.  “Prince Laurent, I - ”

“Don’t toy with me,” said Laurent, voice quiet. It was all he could muster. His heart was racing, a stampede of horses running down a circuit.   

“I don’t toy with you.” Damen replied. “I look at you with the highest regard.” And then: “I hoped my presents conveyed that message.”

Laurent thought of the fruit, the book, and now, the flower in front of him. _I admire you._ “What do you want from me?” He heard the expected answers before Damen opened his mouth. Gold, the palace, his body -

“Whatever you’ll allow.” Damen said it so simply, without artifice.

For a second, Laurent believed it. He closed the distance between them and reached out for the flower. He ignored the slight shake of his hand. Just as Laurent touched the stem, thunder rumbled and a sheet of rain poured down onto them. 

Before Laurent could react, Damen unpinned his cloak. He brought it over Laurent’s head and made a makeshift parasol to shield Laurent from the downpour. “We should head inside,” said Damen. His voice was almost drowned out by the rain.

A brisk walk lead them back to the palace. The whole time, Laurent stared at Damen, who paid no attention to the fact that he was getting soaked, water seeping into his chiton. The grand hall was empty. Everyone must have been whisked away to socialize and dance in another room. Only servants remained, cleaning up the tables.

They were alone. Damen lowered the cloak, a ball of wet cloth between his hands. Laurent still held the flower in his hand. “It may be wise to change your clothes, Your Highness. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. His jacket was slightly damp compared to Damen, who’s white chiton stuck to his skin. Laurent’s eyes trailed down Damen’s abdomen before he forced himself to look away. There was no denying the blush forming on his face. “You ought to listen to your own advice.” 

“I’ll be competing tomorrow,” said Damen while wrapping the wet cloak around his shoulders. He smiled at Laurent. “Will you be there to wish me good luck?”

Laurent stared at Damen and took in his hopeful expression. No one has ever looked at Laurent like this before, as if his presence was worth something to him. It was unnerving, confusing, and yet, nothing unwanted. Laurent left the grand hall without a word but had the feeling that he already knew the answer.

_The next time someone asks for a favour, say yes._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! Sorry I haven't posted anything in the past two months. I spent one month backpacking around Europe (yes, I did visit France and Greece and it was amazing) and spent the other going through intense writers block and lack of motivation.
> 
> Thanks for reading the chapter! I really hope you enjoyed it :)


	6. The Tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this verse, I decided to change up canon a little bit. For one, slavery is nonexistent. In Vere, people are rather modest with their clothing and want to cover up (prostitution still exists but pets aren't being dragged everywhere and there is no "ring" and stuff). 
> 
> Also, Laurent is an innocent spring roll. Auguste made sure of that!

Laurent nocked an arrow. Once it was secured, he pulled back, feeling the tension at his fingertips. He eyed the target – a piece of paper with a circle drawn on it – pinned against a tree. The leaves around him rustled as a gentle wind passed. He shifted his left arm to aim, held his breath, and released.

The arrow found itself below the target. Again.

Laurent gritted his teeth. He reached down to retrieve another arrow from the pile on the ground. It was true that he had not been practicing for the past few weeks, but there was no reason to miss more than once. He had taken the wind into consideration, made sure his string was well waxed and that the bow was strung properly. It was early in the morning; the sun would not inhibit his technique.

“You’re too tense, Your Highness.”

Damen appeared from behind the greenery and walked towards him. He wore a simple white chiton, his adornment the golden lion pin. It shimmered in the sunlight. For a moment, Laurent could do nothing but watch Damen, uncertain of what to do. He did not expect to see him until his competition in the afternoon. He had not even told Damen he would go. Laurent wanted his attendance to be a surprise.

Laurent brought his hands down. The quick movement brought to attention that he only wore a loose white shirt. He forwent his doublet, assuming that he would not have company – everyone was at the other end of the palace where the tournament took place. The white fabric covered up to his collarbone, leaving his neck bare. The material was loose and flowing. Laurent was not indecent, but he felt exposed under Damen’s attentive gaze.

“Have you lost your way?” Laurent asked. “The first event has already started. I’m sure your absence will be noted.”

Damen shrugged. “You weren’t there. I had to ask a dozen guards to find you.”

“You found me.”

“Yes I have,” said Damen, beaming. “Though it appears that I’m interrupting your practice. I understand if you’d like to be alone.”

Laurent looked down at his bow. “It’s not a practice if you don’t improve. It seems that I lack some skill.”

Damen examined the target. “Your shot is far better than half my soldiers.” He circled a cluster of arrows with his finger. “This is an excellent grouping. All you have to do is adjust your focus a little higher.”

“You think I don’t know that?” said Laurent.

“No,” said Damen. “But I think you overcomplicate things. I felt your mind whirling before I even saw you.”

Laurent frowned. “Archery requires precision and concentration.” His instructor had emphasized discipline while shooting.

“True,” Damen acknowledged. “But I find that instinct can go a long way.”

“Instinct,” said Laurent.   

“I can show you.” Damen gestured to the bow. “If you want me to.”

Laurent was private with his training. He only allowed his instructor and his family to watch him practice. But this was Damen. And Damen, Laurent was coming to understand, would not offer anything with alternative intentions. He would not ask Laurent to shoot and mock him afterwards.

Sweeping any trepidation to the back of his mind, Laurent drew his bow. “Well?” said Laurent, surprised at his own daring. “Show me.”

Damen moved behind Laurent. He could feel Damen’s body heat radiating from him. “May I correct your stance?” Damen’s voice was quiet, audible in the space between them.

Laurent nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Damen took hold of Laurent’s right elbow and lowered it. “Your right arm needs to be parallel to the ground.” Then, there was a small touch between Laurent’s shoulder blades. “Relax. Your muscles are seizing up. When you release, it’ll cause you to shift your aim.”

Laurent stiffened, very aware of Damen’s fingers pressing against his back. “I can’t.”

“Don’t think.”

Laurent wanted to scoff in disbelief. How could he not think when Damen was so close? He could feel Damen’s breath at the back of his neck. “I –”

“ _Don’t think._ ”

Laurent closed his eyes and released the string. It was a moment before Laurent could open them. And what he saw, surely enough, was the arrow in the middle of the target.

Damen took a step back. A cold draft took his place behind Laurent. “See? Much better.”

Laurent turned around, coming to a stop when he realized they were less than an arm's length apart.

“Exalted!”

The voice of an Akielon rang clear in the air. Damen, who aired so much confidence and surety, looked sheepish. “I should go. I… may have not told anyone that I left.”

Laurent forced his face to remain still. “And why, pray tell me, did you think that was a good idea?”

“Nikandros would disapprove and I –” Damen rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to see you. I wasn’t sure you would come to my competition.”

Laurent blushed a deep red. He found it in himself to look Damen in the eye. “I’ll be there, Damianos.”

“Wonderful. Yes. Of course. I’ll,” Damen backed away and stumbled over the root of a tree. The corner of Laurent’s mouth twitched. “It’s best that I leave. Good day, Your Highness.” Damen ran down the path as another Akielon called his name.

Laurent, now alone, allowed himself to smile. He turned back to the target and pulled out the arrows.  It was odd to see Damen stammer over his words when he aired such confidence all the time. The feeling it gave him was…warm. Bubbly. Laurent still could not wrap his mind around the fact that Damen had searched for him in the audience, noticed his absence, and went out of his way to look for him. It was more attention than he was used to.

Leaves rustled above him. Someone called, “Who’s that?”

Laurent spun around but saw no one. A guard was making his rounds in the distance. Crickets chirped idly in the morning light.

“Up here, stupid.”

Laurent followed the voice and traced it to a young boy sitting on a branch. The large sapphires decorating his ear shimmered in the light.

“Nicaise,” said Laurent. “I see you’ve managed to sneak into the palace again.”

Their unexpected friendship began almost a year ago. It was late at night and Laurent, who had gotten carried away at the library and forgotten the time, was making his way to his chambers. As he passed the palace kitchens, he saw a young boy walk past him with gold forks in his hand. Laurent intervened and was confronted with an onslaught of insults. In some ways, it was a fairly appropriate introduction for Nicaise – the ten-year-old noble that had the foulest mouth Laurent had ever heard.

“I gave one of your guards a handful of silver to let me pass.” Nicaise climbed down the tree. There was a leaf in his hair, tangled in the precious stones weaved into his hair. “You should train them better.”

Bribery was not underneath Niciase...or the palace guards, apparently. “Does your father know you’re here? You know him, he gets worried.”

Nicaise’s father was Vere’s most renowned jeweler. He and his only son frequented the capital’s marketplace to sell their products. The tournament provided the perfect opportunity to make a large profit.

“Fuck you. I can do what I want.”

Laurent smiled. “I’m the last person to stop you.”

At that, Nicaise grinned and launched himself at Laurent. Laurent bent down so Nicaise could wrap his tiny hands around his shoulders. Nicaise squeezed him tightly. It was nice, Laurent thought, to have someone treat him as a friend instead of a royal. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“What question?” Laurent had hoped Nicaise forgot about it.

Nicaise crossed his arms. “The giant animal. I’ve never seen him before.”

“Don’t call him that.” Laurent detached himself from Nicaise and started to unstring his bow. He knew the palace guard would clean up for him, but he wanted something to do with his hands. “That was the Prince of Akielos. He is staying at the palace during the trade negotiations.”

Nicaise stared at Laurent, squinting his eyes before shouting. “You like him!”

Laurent almost lost his footing. “What made you come to that conclusion?”

“You never smile at anything,” Nicaise snorted. “And I saw you smile when he left, which is weird. You’re as emotionless as a dead pig.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Before Nicaise could protest and insult him further, Laurent asked. “Did you want to see Éloise? She has gotten bigger. I’ll let you ride her around the track. If you feel brave enough, you can try galloping.”

Nicaise’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.” Laurent took Nicaise’s hand and they walked hand in hand toward the stables.

Nicaise talked the whole way there, telling an exaggerated story about a brothel, a pillowcase and a slice of cake. Laurent listened with rapt attention, asking for clarification whenever Nicaise started to ramble and laughed at the appropriate moments.

It was the perfect distraction.

 

* * *

 

The horns sounded, signaling the final match of the longsword competition. Auguste stepped into the ring and waved to the roaring crowd. On the other side was Makedon, commander of Akielon’s largest northern army. He was shorter than Auguste but had arms bulged with muscle. Makedon was much older than Auguste as well, giving him invaluable experience in the field.  

“Stop worrying,” said Nicaise and popped a sweetmeat into his mouth. “He’ll win, Vere will swoon over the golden prince, and then we can go back to sulking in the gardens.”

“I do _not_ sulk,” said Laurent, looking down at Nicaise. He was sitting cross-legged beside Laurent’s seat on the dais.

Wordlessly, Nicaise tilted the bag of sweetmeats in Laurent’s direction and cocked an eyebrow. Laurent, raising an eyebrow of his own, reached down and took one.

At the signal, Auguste and Makedon bowed to one another and got into position. The spectators hushed in expectation. Everyone wanted to see the Crown Prince fight.

Makedon moved first, lunging with a thrust forward. Auguste intercepted and engaged in a flurry of fast-paced exchanges, causing Makedon to move back. He recovered quickly, rolling his shoulder with nonchalance. Makedon then, as quick as lightning, brought his sword downwards. Auguste blocked, their bodies almost shoulder to shoulder, before they simultaneously pushed off and away from one another.

They went back and forth like this, each testing the other’s style, trying to find fault in their footing or hand positioning. Laurent watched, hands digging into his armrest. Makedon was good, no doubt. But Auguste was the best. He would win.

Makedon relentlessly swung his sword, using two-handed attacks common in the North. Auguste countered them effortlessly and responded by pushing Makedon back with his own sword, teasing and challenging.

It was an error Laurent couldn’t catch, a split second opening. Auguste saw it though, and moved up, sliding his sword along his opponent’s blade and wrenching it out of his hand. The offence caused Makedon to stagger and fall on his back, his sword skittering across the floor out of reach. Auguste swept his sword down, pointing at Makedon’s throat.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Not until Makedon raised his hands in surrender. Auguste threw his sword aside and reached out, offering a hand. When Makedon clasped Auguste’s forearm, the crowd cheered.

Laurent let out the breath he was holding and applauded with the rest of the spectators.

“See? I told you he would win.” Nicaise crumpled the empty bag of sweets and tossed it to a guard. He got up and brushed crumbs off his clothes. “It was a boring fight though. I hoped for some bloodshed.”

“It was stated in the rules that the competitors were not allowed to intentionally draw blood.”

“Your point?” Nicaise took Laurent’s hand and dragged him off the dais. “Let’s go. I want more sweetmeats.”

“Wait,” said Laurent, slowing his steps. “I want to congratulate my brother first.”

Nicaise rolled his eyes and waved for Laurent to go. “I’ll wait here.”

A flow of soldiers, commoners and aristocrats alike made their way out of the ring. Laurent weaved around them, craning his neck to find the tent Auguste used to warm up before his fight. Once he got there, a guard peered inside and reported that Auguste was not there.

“I would check Makedon’s tent, Your Highness,” the guard said. “I heard that he wished to treat the Prince with a drink for his victory.”

Laurent went back to where he left Nicaise and found the boy to be nowhere in sight. He wasn’t worried; Nicaise most likely found someone else to entertain him.

The guard said that Makedon’s tent was at the other side of the tournament grounds. Laurent cut through the palace, knowing an underground path that lead him straight to his destination.

Laurent descended a flight of stairs and was about to turn a corner when he heard fervent whispering.

“ – absolutely amazing. You took my breath away.”

“I didn’t make it to the final round.” Laurent raised an eyebrow. Even if they were whispering, he recognized that voice.

“You think I care about that? These tournaments mean nothing to me. You’re the best swordsman I know.” And then shyly, “You’re the best man I know.”

“Aimeric,” said Jord. In all the years that Laurent knew Jord, he had never heard him speak so gently.

“Kiss me,” came the reply. “Quickly, before someone comes–”

The sound of kissing echoed through the stone tunnel. Laurent’s face flushed in embarrassment at catching his guard in such a private moment. He ought to leave. Give them privacy.

Laurent’s feet stayed planted on the ground. The sounds continued, no indication of stopping. In a split second decision, Laurent let his sense of curiosity guide him. He peered around the corner.

Jord had, who Laurent presumed was ‘Aimeric’, pressed against the wall. Aimeric’s arms were wound around Jord’s neck, body pliant under his administrations. Jord clutched onto Aimeric, supporting him so he did not fall. Their mouths moved in sync with each other, heads tilted slightly.

It was too much. Laurent leaned back against his wall, out of sight. He could hear his heartbeat drumming wildly in his ear. Hesitantly, Laurent pressed his fingertips to his mouth. How was it like, being kissed on the mouth? Laurent had not thought much of it before. It never occurred to him that kissing could be like _that_ – sensual, gentle.

There was a flicker of interest, of _appeal_ , and Laurent flinched back at the thought. Where was this coming from?

“What are you doing?”

Laurent whipped his head to the side and saw Nicaise.

He reached over and clamped a hand over Nicaise’s mouth. “Quiet!”

Nicaise pushed Laurent’s hand away and stuck his tongue at him. “Be quiet from what?” Laurent peered over the corner but found it empty. Jord and Aimeric must have left. “Auguste has been looking for you!”

“I –”

“Don’t bother,” said Nicaise. “Let’s go. I still want my sweetmeats.”

Laurent, dazed, followed Nicaise back to the tournament grounds.

 

* * *

 

 

The midday feast was taken outdoors, much to everyone’s delight. Akielons and Veretians mingled while servants walked around, offering an assortment of bread, cheese, and fruit. Laurent opted to eat inside a tent while Auguste made his rounds. Nicaise stayed with him for a few minutes but he left to find candied pears.           

Auguste strode in the tent some time after, grinning ear to ear. He was like the morning light, radiating and filling the tent with warmth. “You should have come with me, Laurent,” said Auguste. “Our people are very welcoming.”

Laurent took a sip of water before speaking. “You forget that they like _you_ , not me.”

Auguste frowned. Before he got the chance to speak, a soldier came in. “Your Highnesses, I am to inform you that the last event of the day is starting.”

Laurent looked up at that. Did he miss Damen’s event without knowing? “Thank you,” said Auguste. “We’ll be right there.”

There were two thrones side by side on the dais. They took their respective seats and waited for the event to start. A servant offered Auguste wine, which he took. Another servant brought Laurent water without needing to be asked.

“What sport is this, Auguste?” Laurent asked. A man holding a receptacle stationed himself at the side of the field. It seemed to be all that was needed.

“It’s an Akielon sport called _wrestling_ ,” said Auguste. “I’m not sure of the specifics.”

They found out the specifics when two Akielon men came forward naked. Stark naked. Laurent’s eyes widened, unsure of what he was seeing. He looked at Auguste, who wore a look of amusement and excitement.

The two Akielons went over to the receptacle and began spreading a substance onto their bodies. Their skin glistened under the sun. Oil. They were spreading oil all over their bodies. Once fully covered, they slung their arms around each other’s shoulders, waiting for a signal. When a horn blared, they heaved and tumbled to the ground.

Laurent was more than a little overwhelmed. He was not used to witnessing so much nudity at once. He did not know the appropriate place to rest his eyes. Was it rude to stare? Would Laurent be insulting Akielos by looking away? The last thing Laurent wanted was to unintentionally insult an entire foreign nation.

The taller Akielon won the match by pinning the other on the ground. They cleared the field for the second round. Auguste leaned over, using his goblet to cover his mouth. “You look one minute away from fainting.”

“I’m fine,” said Laurent, staring straight ahead.

Auguste laughed. “I could bring you a fan.”

“I’m fine.”

Round after round, Akielon men tried to defeat the first round’s winner, a man named Pallas. Laurent thought he won the whole competition, until a herald announced, “May I present the final competitor of the evening.”

Laurent realized that he had not missed Damen’s competition. He was attending it now. _Oh no_ , Laurent thought rather helplessly, as the herald called out: “The Crowned Prince Damianos of Akielos!”

The spectators whistled and cheered as Damen emerged onto the field. He reached into the receptacle and proceeded to smear the oil over his body. Perhaps Laurent should have taken the fan after all. He clenched his fists and fought for some self-control. This was ridiculous. He had already seen a dozen naked Akielons within the past hour. He managed perfectly fine. Damen was no different.

Except he was. And with every flitting glance – of strong shoulders, well-muscled biceps, and taut chest – Laurent was not ignorant enough to deny the inevitable fact: Damen was attractive.

Damen and Pallas got into position. Hands on shoulders. Heads bent forward. Like Auguste’s fight, the buzz of anticipation was palpable in the atmosphere.

The match was intense and quick. Damen and Pallas heaved and strained, grappling with each other to find some kind of leverage. Even Laurent, unfamiliar with the sport, could see that Damen had an upper hand. In all but two minutes, Damen had Pallas in a restraining hold. He won the competition.

Roaring approval exploded from the crowd as Damen got up. He raised a hand to acknowledge their cheers. Attendants circled around Damen, scraping off excess oil and then repining his chiton back on his body.

Damen went up to the dais, where Auguste stood waiting. “That was an excellent fight!” Auguste slapped Damen on the back with full enthusiasm. Damen returned a slap of his own and thanked him.

Detaching from Auguste, Damen saw Laurent and smiled. Just as Laurent was about to rise from his seat, a hint of a smile forming, Nikandros mounted the dais and stepped between them. He slung an arm around Damen’s shoulder and said something in Akielon. They grinned and smiled at each other. Auguste made a remark and the three of them roared in laughter.

Laurent, still seated, watched them and felt out of place. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach was bothersome. It was foolish, thinking that Damen would fix his attentions on him. Damen was well-liked. _Attractive_ , Laurent reminded himself bitterly. Laurent saw the way men and women in the audience looked at Damen. Now that Damen was surrounded by his friends and admirers, he didn't look back at Laurent again.

Laurent slipped away unnoticed.

 

* * *

 

A bonfire was lit in celebration. Nicaise’s fun was cut short when his father dragged him back to their inn. Courtiers pulled Auguste away, desperate for his attention. In one corner, Akielons were teaching very drunk Veretians how to dance. Pallas and Lazar, a man in the Prince’s Guard, were found in another corner, gesturing wildly with their hands, shoulders almost touching.

Laurent sat underneath a tree, away from the light. He didn’t want to be here. The only thing that held him was pure obligation, and the fact that his brother would hound him for an explanation he could not give. It would be imprudent to disobey orders in the name of petty afflictions.

Sitting at the outskirts, Laurent had a full view of the festivities. It was easy to pick out faces in the throng. Laurent spent time skimming over individuals before immediately dismissing them. When Laurent became conscious of the fact that he was actively seeking out _Damen_ , he clenched jaw and stalked away.

Laurent had wasted enough time on Damen. Why should he spend so much effort when there was nothing in return? From what Laurent understood, it was Damen who asked _him_ to attend. It was unacceptable to ignore someone after that kind of request.

In Laurent’s haste, he almost walked over Jord who was guarding the entrance.

“Apologies for my impudence,” said Laurent, mortified at his loss of composure. What kind of prince knocked into his own men?

“Nothing to be sorry for, Your Highness,” said Jord. “Is there something I can do?”

Laurent let out a breath of amusement. “I imagine being stationed here is the last thing you want to be doing. I won’t add anymore labour tonight.”

Jord nodded. “It is an honour to serve.”

Warmed by Jord’s commitment, Laurent decided, “I won’t be riding tomorrow. You’re relieved of your regular duties in the morning.”

Jord’s eyes widened. “Your Highness?”

“I’m sure you can find something to do with your time.” Laurent looked away so Jord couldn’t see his expression. “Carry on.”

Laurent went on his way, but not before he caught the way Jord looked at his shoes and smiled, private and personal. He was no doubt thinking of his lover. Laurent hoped they used their time wisely.

In an attempt to entertain himself, and to keep his mind off a certain Akielon, Laurent escaped to the gardens. He welcomed the familiar floral scent, allowing the sweet aroma to fill his lungs and calm his nerves. He was almost starting to feel settled again when he realized he was not alone. A dark shadow occupied the bench at the end of the path.

The sight of Damen was like the spark of a new fire. A mixture of anger and hopefulness came and left Laurent in waves. He was unsure which emotion was more prevalent.

“This is a place to hide,” said Laurent, approaching Damen. “That is the last thing I expected from you.”

Damen straightened up, hands behind him. “I was waiting for you.”

Annoyance was thrown into the flame. “I was supposed to know you were here? If you sent a messenger dove to the bonfire, I did not receive it.”

Damen’s smile seemed self-deprecating rather than genuine. “Call it instinct?”

Laurent couldn’t deal with the slight twist in his heart. “What is it, Damianos? I wish for solitude.”

“It is an Akielon custom to bestow the champion with a laurel.” Damen reached behind his back and held the intertwined branches in his hands. “I wanted you to,” Damen stumbled over the words. “Crown me with it. Right after the match, that is. But Nikandros – you left before I could – what I’m trying to – ”

“Please make some sense,” said Laurent.

“Let us pretend that the past few hours never happened. That it was just you and me on the dais after my victory. There were no distractions and my focus remained on you. You should know, Your Highness, that it has always been on _you_.” Damen drew in an audible breath. “I would be honoured if you crowned me with this laurel.”

Desperation and pleading dripped from his words. But pity was not the reason Laurent said, “Yes. Come forth.”

Laurent took the laurel with both hands, holding it as he would Father’s crown. Damen dipped his head to receive it. The act felt intimate, something Laurent was unaware of until his fingertips brushed over Damen’s soft, dark curls.

Once done, Damen raised his head and gazed at Laurent with sincerity he did not understand. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

For the first time, Laurent ached to hear Damen call him by something other than his formal title. “You may call me by my given name, if you’d like.”

This was a leap off a balcony, a moment of mid-air suspension, where Laurent questioned whether or not he made the right choice. Trust was not something to be given lightly.

Laurent saw movement at the corner of his eye. It was Damen’s hand, crossing the channel between them. Laurent stiffened, unsure of Damen’s intentions. He expected a verbal response. Not… this.

Damen paused and trained his eyes on Laurent, searching for something. His hand hovered in the air.

Only when Laurent locked eyes with Damen did he continue to move.

Damen’s finger brushed against his hand. When Laurent stayed still, Damen took it more firmly and brought it to himself. To Laurent’s utter surprise, Damen kissed the back of his fingers, once. It was a fleeting brush of lips, the warmth of Damen’s mouth gone just as Laurent began to process the action.

Damen did not let go of his hand, kept it close to his lips. Laurent did not take it back, entranced by the man in front of him. He was hyperaware of their proximity, the distracting beat of his heart.

“ _Laurent.”_

He liked the way Damen said it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was their first kiss but it won't be their last ;)


	7. Interlude: A Brother's Duty

If someone were to ask Auguste for his favourite memory, it would be of Laurent. There were many noteworthy moments - for instance, Laurent’s first word (it was a garbled version of Auguste’s name), Laurent’s first steps (with his arms outstretched towards Auguste), and perhaps the time when Auguste gifted Laurent his first mare (he had to bribe the stable boy to turn a blind eye since their father thought Laurent was too young to have a horse). But if Auguste had to choose _one_ , it would be of the first time they met. It was a bittersweet day in his life - the day he met his treasured brother was also the last day he saw his mother before her death. Ultimately, the charm of baby Laurent in his arms cast a positive light on the whole event.

Auguste was twelve and had just finished a history lesson with his tutor. On Auguste’s way out of the library, one of his mother’s servants called for him. _Queen Hennike has a surprise for you,_ they said. _Best not keep her waiting._ Auguste thought that seeing her at all was surprise enough – she was not allowed visitors. Not when she was sick.

Auguste was led to the basement, a floor with thick grey walls and no windows. It was completely different from the extravagant decorations he saw throughout the rest of the palace. If Auguste had known he would be seeing his mother, he would have brought some flowers. The white ones were her favourite.

They stopped in front of the wooden door. The servant pushed it open and urged Auguste inside.

The smell of herbs and strong medicine was overpowering in the small quarters. To one side, a cluster of palace physicians was speaking in hushed voices. On the other were the Queen’s handmaidens. Auguste paid them no attention. He focused on the woman in front of him and frowned. This was not how he remembered her. The long wavy hair was cut short. The silk dresses she used to wear were replaced with a white robe. If Auguste were not told whom he was seeing, he wouldn’t have recognized her.

Queen Hennike beckoned Auguste forward. “Hello, my sweet prince. Are you well?”

Auguste came forward, hands behind his back. “I’m well, thank you.”

She reached out and took one of Auguste’s hands. They were cold but her eyes were warm. “You’ve gotten so much bigger.”

“I started physical training,” Auguste said, grinning. “Father got me a sword for my twelfth birthday.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m sure you’ll become the finest swordsman Vere has ever seen.” The Queen was about to continue, but was interrupted by a small cry.

Auguste looked down at her lap. He hadn’t noticed the small bundle between them. “What’s that?”

Queen Hennike smiled. “Your surprise.” With shaking fingers, she lifted a corner of the blanket to reveal an infant. He had bright blue eyes like Auguste. “This is your new brother,” she said. “His name is Laurent.”

Auguste’s eyes widened with awe. _He had a little brother._ “Can he play yet?”

“Not yet, my prince.” Auguste watched as she stroked Laurent’s head. “Maybe in a few years.”

“Can I touch him too?” Auguste asked.

“I want you to hold him.” Queen Hennike placed Laurent in Auguste’s arms. He held onto his brother tightly. “I need you to take care of him,” she turned her head away and coughed, a rattling sound. She took a deep breath before looking at Auguste again. “You will be all he has.”

“I will.”

Queen Hennike brushed a strand of Auguste’s hair away from his face. “Promise me. No matter what happens, you’ll take care of him.”

Auguste nodded. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Auguste dismissed the guard at Laurent’s door and knocked twice. When no answer came, he did it again, just in case Laurent didn’t hear it. There were many occasions where Laurent, too engrossed in a novel, disregarded everything around him. Though it might have frustrated their father several times, Auguste found it amusing.

“Laurent?”

Auguste had managed to schedule some free time this afternoon. They had agreed to have tea together. Laurent said he would be waiting in his chambers but it appeared that he went somewhere else. Perhaps Laurent was in the library. If not there, then the gardens or the stables. There were only so many places Laurent could be.

Just as Auguste was about to leave, he paused, eyes flickering to Laurent’s door. He knew Laurent valued his privacy. Auguste could imagine how displeased his brother would be if he entered the room without permission. But recently, Auguste noticed that Laurent had become more secretive than usual. The frequency of redirected questions and vague descriptions of Laurent’s day were enough to cause mild suspicion. Now was the chance to gain insight to Laurent’s innermost thoughts.  

Auguste turned the handle and let himself inside. What was the worse that could happen? Laurent never stayed mad at him for long anyway.

The room was empty and meticulously organized. Despite having the exact same furnishings as Auguste, Laurent somehow placed the furniture in a manner that made the space appear larger than it was. The long silk curtains were drawn up, allowing the sun to enter and reflect off the polished tiled floors. A basket of oranges were left on the desk. There were piles of books scattered in neat stacks along the walls. A large tome was left opened on a chaise lounge.

To Auguste’s slight disappointment, everything appeared normal.

That was until he rounded the corner and spotted an odd looking vase near Laurent’s bedside table. Closer inspection revealed that it was an Akielon vase, its copper and black colouring distinct. Wild horses galloped across a grass field on its surface. Auguste spent some time admiring the simple, yet intricate detailing. It was magnificently crafted. That kind of quality could only come from royalty.

Auguste shifted his eyes a fraction higher and saw a dozen white flowers placed inside the vase. They were Laurent’s favourite, found near Queen Hennike’s fountain in the gardens. Peculiar, since Laurent was not one who enjoyed picking flowers.

Auguste’s foot hit something and he looked down. Just beneath Laurent’s bed was a leather-bound book. He bent down to retrieve it. The golden lion was very pronounced on the front cover. Akielon, again. Auguste turned a page and found a sheet of paper in Laurent’s elegant handwriting. It was a list of Akielon words with a Veretian definition next to it. Laurent had not shown acute interest in learning Akielon before.

A knowing smirk formed on Auguste’s face. Even a blind man could tell what these objects were: courting gifts. Had his little brother accepted Damen as a suitor?

Auguste would not deny playing a role in pushing them together. He had purposely brought Damen to the palace gardens during the tour, hoping that Laurent would be there as well. And from Damen and Laurent’s first interaction, Auguste thought that there was some potential. He played naive when Damen inquired what kind of drink Laurent enjoyed and masked his delight when Laurent came back and asked to have sparkling wine at the next feast.

It was hard to know exactly what went through Laurent’s mind. He wasn’t particularly expressive, but he had made his distaste for emotional affairs such as love and marriage clear. Had Damen changed his perspective? As far as Auguste knew, Laurent had neither accepted nor acknowledged a suitor before. The fact that Laurent kept these gifts – and even had them so close to his bed – was significant.

Auguste placed the book back on the floor and retreated out of the room in deep thought.

 

* * *

 

Auguste threw his dirty rag in a basket and undid a strap of his armour. He smiled to himself, feeling pleased at the training session with his Guard. His muscles ached from the lengthy drills. He rolled his wrists as he walked, stretching them out. Today, he had filled his practice sword with sand to improve his strength.

A servant stood by the armoury but Auguste waved him off. He enjoyed the therapeutic process of cleaning and polishing his armour. The small moment of quiet relieved him of his royal title and allowed him to be a soldier, a man with simpler duties and responsibilities. Everyone needed a break sometimes, even the Crowned Prince.

Once Auguste finished, he left the training ground through the stables. He made a list of what tasks he had to accomplish: finalize the grain taxes with the Council, speak to the kitchen staff about tonight’s dining menu, discuss the new uniforms with Father –

Laughter came from one of the stalls. It was not unusual to find soldiers joking around after practice.

“You mock me.”

Auguste stilled at the voice. It was Damen.

“Nonsense,” said Laurent. “I mock your finger’s lack of dexterity. This is the simplest pattern.”

There was a huff of frustration. “Can you show me again?”

“Alright.” There was some rustling and mumbling that Auguste could not hear. He inched closer to them, careful to not make a sound. “ – Then you take this strand and put it on top of the others.”

“There’s not even a hair out of place! How do you braid so well?”

“Practice.” Laurent’s voice was sharp with a hint of...fondness? Laurent only used that tone with Auguste.

“I don’t believe my horse will approve of this.”

“Practice on mine, then.”

A pause. “ _Your_ hair?”

Laurent stammered, “No, I meant the - my - _Éloise’s_ hair. Don’t be foolish, Damianos.” Auguste could imagine the flare of red blooming on Laurent’s face.

“I don't meant to tease,” Damen chuckled. “Your blush is endearing, I can't help myself.”

“Well,” Auguste covered his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh. Not many people could make Laurent fumble with his words. “Learn to help yourself.”

“Yes, Laurent.”

Auguste raised an eyebrow at that. He did not know they were on a first name basis.

“Try again. And this time look at your fingers, not at my face.”

Auguste made his way out of the stables. It was strange, thinking that Laurent could develop an interest in Damen, or anyone at all for that matter. But from what Auguste just overheard, Laurent seemed quite taken with Damen.

When Laurent was growing up, he followed Auguste everywhere as if he were what caused the sun to rise every morning. The moment Auguste saw the very same look directed towards Damen at the tournament, he felt a surge of protective instinct – especially since Laurent looked at Damen in a way that went beyond fraternal admiration. And while August knew that Damen looked at Laurent in the same manner, Auguste was entitled as an older brother to defend Laurent’s honour.

Damen was, without a doubt, a good man. He was honest, kind, and had good judgment. Auguste certainly liked him and would never allow a lesser man to approach Laurent in the first place. But was Damen truly good enough for Laurent? His little brother deserved the very best.

Auguste would find out.

 

* * *

 

 

The last time Auguste was in his study, he had been arguing with the King of Vere.

_“Your request is untoward,” his father said. “I cannot agree with this.”_

_They had been negotiating for over an hour. Auguste refused to give up, knowing that he was close to breaking his father’s resolve. “Please, Father. Let Laurent decide whom he chooses to betroth. I have already agreed to marry the Patran princess.”_

_His father rose from his seat. “Enough, Auguste. I have heard enough.”_

_Auguste stood up and reached out to stop him. “I promise that you’ll like the results. Give us some time. Please.”_

_“You have to give me something concrete. I care for Laurent, but I cannot overlook the fact that he is the_ second _prince. Letting him go unmarried is an absolute waste of -”_

_Auguste took a breath. “Damianos intends to court Laurent.”_

_That made the King stop. “The Prince of Akielos?”_

_“Yes. Why have both of your sons tied to Patras, when you can send one to Akielos?” Auguste hated speaking of Laurent in this way, as if he were a piece of meat to be traded. “Our relations with them have never been stable. A marriage will promise Vere security on all fronts.”_

_“How serious is Prince Damianos?” His father asked. “He has not spoken to either of us about his intentions.”_

_“Not yet, but he will. From what I’ve seen, he has already made advances.”_

_“There is too much risk…”_

_“Let things play out,” said Auguste. “Just a few months. Please, I never ask for anything.”_

_The King sighed and passed a hand over his face. “Fine. Tell Laurent that he may choose his consort in a timely fashion. I’ll give you half a year before I send my proposal to Patras.”_

_“Thank you, Father.” Auguste let out the breath he was holding. “Thank you.”_

The look of happiness on Laurent’s face at the news had been worth every dispute, every hair-pulling frustration. Auguste was the older brother. It was his duty – his promise – to take care of Laurent. Even if it meant sacrificing his marital freedom, he would go back and do it all again.

A knock on the door broke Auguste out of his reverie.

“Auguste,” said Damen. “You asked for me?”

“Take a seat,” Auguste gestured towards the chair and put away his papers. “I hope this is a good time.”

Damen smiled. “Anytime is a good time, my friend. Though, I believe this talk is not about our friendship.”

Auguste made eye contact with Damen. “I’m sure you know why I summoned you.”

Damen’s gaze didn't waver. “I have an idea.”

“I think highly of you, Damen,” Auguste began. “But Laurent is my first priority. What is your intention in courting my little brother?”

Damen straightened his back and placed both hands on the table, open and honest. “I intend to marry him. Laurent is...” Damen searched for his words. “Beautiful. I cannot deny that his physicality appeals to me, but I am equally attracted to his mind. I wish to court Laurent with all the grace and courtesy that he deserves. I wish to give him everything within my power. That is, if he’ll allow it.”

Auguste laughed. “I believe he will, given time. Courting my brother is no small affair, and I trust that you will take this process seriously. If my brother were to get hurt in any way...” He didn’t need to finish his sentence.

Damen placed a hand on his heart. “I would rather die by my own hand than harm Laurent.”

“Good.” That was the confirmation Auguste needed to hear. “You have my blessing.”

Damen stood up and they shook hands. “Thank you, Auguste.”

“You should know,” said Auguste, amusement strung in his words. “My brother _loves_ sweets. It’s one of his indulgences, no matter how much he denies it. You might want to ask the kitchen staff for his favourites. After all, I want you to experience the best of Veretian cuisine.”

Damen winked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Auguste watched Damen leave, feeling content with himself. He dipped his pen into ink and began to write another letter. The Crowned Prince of Vere had work to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked my interpretation of Auguste!
> 
> Once again, thank you for all your kind, amazing, wonderful feedback and support <3


	8. Sweet Revelations

Laurent trailed a finger down the list of Akielon words, eyes skimming over the foreign letters. His finger stopped on top of the word he was searching for, eyes flitting to the Veretian translation beside it. He repeated the word a couple times, testing the pronunciation, before writing it down on a piece of paper. He flipped the page and continued to read.

It had been almost two weeks since Laurent had received the book. Every day since then, Laurent dedicated his evenings to studying Akielon. It was complex; the lettering and grammatical structures were vastly different from the Veretian language. It took Laurent almost an hour to wrap his head around the syntax and sentence structures.

The text he was working through seemed to be lyrics of a song – the Conquest of Arsaces. Laurent had only gotten through the first few lines, unsure of its meaning. He considered asking Auguste for guidance but he never went through with it. Any mention of learning Akielon would give rise to a long and painful interrogation of how Laurent received the book and what had sparked his newfound interest. The last thing Laurent wanted was for Auguste to prod where he had no place.

Laurent stretched his hand out to take a new sheet of paper, his eyes trained on deciphering the text in front of him. He overreached, knocking over a set of pens. They hit the ground, loud against the hard floors, and rolled towards his doorstep. Laurent stood to retrieve it, chiding himself for his clumsiness. He gathered the pens and was about to return to the book when he saw a small folded note. Someone must have slipped it under the door.

He picked it up.

It read:

_Laurent,_

_I know you dislike surprises but I have one you might like. Please see the servant by the kitchen doors._

_Trust me?_

_Damen_

The first thing Laurent registered was not the message itself, but the handwriting. He scanned the neat script twice before going over to his opened book. It was the same penmanship.

This information led to a conclusion Laurent was unsure how to process. The Akielon book was bound in new leather. The pages were white with no sign of aging and the ink was fresh. Did that mean Damen made this book? He couldn’t imagine it. The idea that someone would go through such an effort for _him_ was almost unfathomable.

Laurent pushed the thought out of his mind and returned his attention back to the note. He had granted Damen permission to call him by his given name. He had let Damen give him flowers, a vase, a book. And, of course, there was the kiss. That certainly required trust, did it not? Laurent rubbed the back of his hand. He could still feel the slight pressure of Damen’s lips on his skin.

Laurent tucked the note into his jacket. He left the room before he could change his mind.

The palace was asleep save for the guards on duty. Torches were lit on the walls and cast long shadows that followed him as he made his way down the stairwell and to the kitchen. He kept his strides even, forcing himself to not hurry.

He took a left and saw a servant standing beside the kitchen doors. Laurent recognized him as one of the few that served at his table during meals. “Good evening, Your Highness,” the boy bowed. “If you will follow me? ”

Laurent was led to one of the few private dining rooms adjacent to the kitchen. The King used them when he wished to discuss political matters with foreign dignitaries in private. It was odd that Damen would be in here. That meant he had gotten permission from either Auguste or Father to use it.

The servant stopped in front of a wooden door with a complex pattern carved on the surface. This was the best room. “The Prince of Akielos waits for you inside, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” said Laurent and let himself in.

Candles were lit up in all corners, flames swaying slightly at the draft from the open door. A square table was stationed in the centre, a velvet tablecloth draped over dark mahogany. Plates and cutlery were set up on two opposite ends. Unlike the grand dining hall, the room was small. It was a rather intimate setting. Seated at one of the chairs was Damen, white flower in hand.

“Laurent,” Damen slid out of his chair and grinned. “You came.”

Laurent’s heart skipped a beat. Damen always looked so happy to see him. It was a fact that was both startling and wondrous. “You knew I would.”

Damen crossed the room to meet him, offering the flower once he was close. “You have the habit of keeping me on my toes.”

Laurent accepted it, as he had with all the others. The vase in his room was getting full. “Veretian landscapers submitted a formal complaint two nights ago, stating that the bush near my mother’s fountain is almost bare.”

Damen’s mouth quirked. “Is that so?”

Laurent raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I speak the truth. You wouldn’t know anything of this, would you?”

“No,” Damen said slowly. “But let the landscapers know that the culprit will have the plant replaced.” His eyes glanced away for a second. “They don’t wish to stop bringing flowers to the one they admire.”

Laurent, who could not respond without stammering, redirected the conversation. He brushed past Damen and set the note on the well-dressed table. “What are we doing?” Laurent had already eaten supper.  He could not stomach another meal.

Damen pulled out a chair. “Have a seat?”

Laurent lowered himself, bemused when Damen eased the chair back towards the table. Once Laurent was settled, Damen went around the table so they sat across from one another. “So your surprise is for us to stare at each other from across a dining table? Quite a pointless use of our time.”

“No,” Damen laughed. “ _This_ is your surprise.”

As if on cue, the same servant who met Laurent at the door came into the room. He carried a metal tray and set it between them. Laurent’s eyes widened at the sight. It took him a while for the display in front of him to sink in.

On the table was a tray full of Veretian desserts. There were pastries filled with cream and tarts caramelized with a variety of fruit.  Golden custard glistened in elegant bowls; swirls of chocolates were topped with nuts and figs. The sweet aroma of baked goods and decadence filled the air. For the first time in years, Laurent felt a child-like giddiness surfacing.  This was a type of delicacy that Laurent seldom allowed himself to partake in.

“These are my favourites,” said Laurent. “How?”

“I wanted to experience the best of Veretian cuisine and thought sweets were a good place to start,” he said. “I asked the chefs to prepare the ones you like.”

Laurent looked over at Damen, the strange feeling in his chest resurfacing. “I don’t think we can finish these ourselves.”

“You can share with Auguste or anyone you wish. I don’t mind, as long as I can share this moment with you.” A pause. “That is, if you agree with tonight’s arrangement. I will not demand your company.”

 _Why do you say these things?_ Laurent wanted to ask. _Why do your words make my heart race?_  Instead, Laurent said, “I’ll stay. Thank you, Damianos.”

“Of course.” Damen reached across the table and gently took one of Laurent’s hands. Damen brought it to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to Laurent’s knuckles. His lips were hot; Laurent could feel the shape of them over his fingers. “Which one should we try first?”

Laurent immediately pointed at a cream filled pastry with chocolate glaze artfully drizzled on top. “This one.”

They took their time tasting the desserts. Laurent, at Damen’s request, explained the origins and description of each one. While Laurent spoke, he waited for Damen to interrupt him, used to being talked over. An interruption never came. Damen listened intently, as if he valued Laurent’s words and was genuinely interested.

They took turns cutting pieces of the desserts, passing one plate back and forth even if there were two available. It was reminiscent of their picnic in the forest. Now, Laurent supposed, the roles were reversed.

Damen bit into a cake and left a splotch of powered sugar on his nose. Laurent covered a hand over his mouth to stifle the laughter. “What is it?” Damen asked. He cocked his head, as if he were a confused puppy.

“You have something on your face.”

“Oh.” Damen used the back of his hand to wipe his nose and forehead, smearing more white powder on his face. “Better?”

Laurent took a napkin from the table and dampened it with some water. “Here,” Laurent gestured for Damen to come closer.

Damen leaned forward, just like he did when Laurent crowned him with the laurel the night of the tournament. They were so close. Laurent felt the weight of Damen’s eyes as he brushed the sugar away. He made sure his hand did not weaver.

“Better,” said Laurent. He could already feel a blush creeping up his neck. Laurent was relieved his high collar and the dim light could hide it.

Damen’s smile was warm like fire, and it ignited another burst of feeling he did not understand. “Thank you, Laurent.”

Laurent smiled back. It came out naturally. “You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

Nicaise shoved a whole pastry into his mouth. Laurent, although slightly put off by his lack of etiquette, was quite impressed. The pastry was half the size of Nicaise’s face. “You should ask for more,” he said, cheeks puffed with food.

Laurent rolled his eyes and took a sip of tea. They were outside in the gardens, enjoying some fresh air. Or rather, Laurent was enjoying the scenery while Nicaise dedicated his focus on the selection of desserts in front of him. “I’d rather not.”

Nicaise licked some sugar off his fingers before reaching for a napkin. “If my suitor gave me all this stuff, I’d take full advantage of it.”

Laurent choked on his tea. He coughed into his sleeve, feeling heat flare on his face. “What?”

“You heard me,” Nicaise smirked. It wasn’t a good look on him. “Consider cleaning your ears.”

“It’s not like that.”

The words came out as an automated response. It was what Laurent had been telling himself for days. Every look at the flowers, the vase, the book, and every thought of the smiles, compliments, and remarks, Laurent would tell himself this. Now the words felt heavy on his tongue.

Nicaise scoffed. He waved a biscuit in the air as he said, “No one gifts half the nation’s supply of desserts because they’re _nice_.”

Damen was nice. He was also polite, courteous, respectful and – a fact Laurent had conceded to – attractive. Ever since Damen’s arrival at the palace, he had turned all of Laurent’s expectations around, ripping them to shreds.

“There’s a first time for everything,” said Laurent, but he was no fool. He knew what Damen was doing. He knew what the presents meant. Laurent knew better; he should have dismissed Damen a long time ago – just like the others.

Auguste would have heirs and Laurent would have books. It was an arrangement he was happy with and wholeheartedly believed to be their reality. But that was before Damen. That was before Laurent was placed in a position he hadn’t fathomed he’d be in.

Laurent, Prince of Vere, was being _courted_ and he was helpless but to let it happen.

“I haven’t accepted him yet.”

Laurent caught his mistake as soon as Nicaise widened his eyes. “ _Yet_?” He grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I knew you liked him!”

Laurent looked away with a muttered breath. Damen was a subject matter he wasn’t sure he was ready to discuss – in front of a ten-year-old nonetheless.

Laurent weighed his options. The urge to deny what was happening between him and Damen was hard to quell. It would be so easy to send an insult Nicaise’s way, to receive one back, and pretend like this conversation never happened, like there was nothing more to Damen than him being a foreign visitor. But being around Damen made Laurent feel things he had never felt before. Laurent found himself smiling more often. He felt... happier with Damen. Almost as happy as when he spent time with Auguste or even with Nicaise.

But Auguste was his brother. Nicaise was his friend. Jord, who Laurent enjoyed spending time with during morning rides, was his personal guard. The people in Laurent’s life had simple categorizations.  He never had to think twice about it. Damen was unknown territory.

Damen was the Crowned Prince of Akielos. He was royalty. Kind. Captivating. But a friend was not the label Laurent was willing to put on top of Damen’s name. The thought of calling Damen more than a friend - a suitor, a _lover_ \- made Laurent blush from head to toe.

“I’m unsure of his interests. I,” Laurent said with painful honesty. “I haven’t done this before.”

To formally accept a suitor, one must return a token of affection. While Laurent could give Damen something generic – a handkerchief was the most common item – it didn’t sit right with him. 

Nicaise frowned. “I haven’t either so don’t ask me. I’m not even Akielon!”

“You’re right,” said Laurent. “But I know with whom to speak.”

 

* * *

 

Laurent found Nikandros on the training grounds. He had seen the Kyros of Delpha several times in passing, once face-to-face in the stables, but had never had a direct conversation with him. He wondered if they would get on well.

Nikandros was sparring with another Akielon soldier. When Auguste and Damen had sparred, Laurent did not pay much attention to their sword work. Here, watching two Akielons spar, Laurent could see the stylistic differences between Akielon and Veretian sword fighting. Laurent was no swordsman, but he could appreciate good technique regardless of origin.

Laurent startled when the Akielons changed positions and he made eye contact with Nikandros. He wanted to let them finish their set first before approaching.

The response was immediate. Nikandros spoke to the soldier and both faced Laurent. They sheathed their swords and bowed.

Laurent drew in a breath and went to them.

“Your Highness,” Nikandros said in Veretian. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Nikandros. Do you have a moment?”

Laurent noted his hesitation. “Of course.” He turned to the other Akielon, switching to his native language. The soldier bowed once more before heading back inside the palace.

It was only when they could not be overheard did Nikandros speak. “How may I help you, Your Highness?”

“Would it be bold of me to assume that you and Damianos are well acquainted with one another?”

“No,” Nikandros said carefully. “We are good friends.” Laurent recalled the night in the grand hall when he saw Damen and Nikandros slap each other on the backs, roaring with laughter.

“So I would be correct to assume that you wish to see your Prince happy?”

Nikandros swallowed. “You are correct, Your Highness.”

“Wonderful.” There was no going back. “I need a favour.”

 

* * *

 

The plan was to have Nikandros deliver Laurent’s note in the evening. Damen, having read it, would meet Laurent in the courtyard at the break of dawn. They would spend the morning travelling, the afternoon at their destination and return just shy of nightfall. Jord left two hours ago to ensure everything would be in place when they arrived. Nikandros would accompany them, as was required whenever a royal left the palace.

Laurent stood in the courtyard, as it was predetermined.  He resisted the urge to redo Éloise’s braid for the third time. He glanced at the stable doors before resolutely checking the straps of his saddle. Again.

“He will show,” said Nikandros. “He has agreed to it.”

“I never asked for reassurance,” said Laurent. The more Nikandros spoke, the more this strange feeling at the pit of Laurent’s stomach would grow. It was absolutely ridiculous for Laurent to be _nervous_.

The stable doors burst open. It was Damen, guiding his stallion to meet them in the middle of the courtyard.

Laurent felt the sharp stab of nervousness in his gut again, but he ignored it. He didn't appreciate that this new and odd feeling was becoming a common occurrence whenever Damen was in his presence. “You came,” said Laurent, the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“You knew I would,” Damen mirrored back. “I believe it is my turn to ask what we’ll be doing today.”

Laurent suppressed a smile. “It’s a surprise.”

“No hints?”

“None at all.”

Nikandros cleared his throat. “The guards are readying the gates. We should head off as soon as possible.”

Laurent glanced at Damen. “Are you ready to depart?”

Damen grinned. “Lead the way.”

They mounted their respective horses and galloped out of the gate.

The rushing winds and the rhythmic sounds of horse hooves on the ground filled the silence as they left the palace grounds. The well-paved roads transformed into winding dirt trails. In a few minutes, they would be on uneven grass fields, heading towards the backcountry.

Laurent set a steady pace for the journey. Damen rode next to Laurent, Nikandros slightly behind. He was far enough that they could not be overheard but close enough to intervene if something were to occur.

It was Damen who spoke first. “I was very pleased to receive your note.”

Laurent tightened his grip on the lead. "The feeling is mutual." The admittance caused heat to spread across his face. "Consider this returning the favour." Without seeing Damen’s reaction, Laurent dug his heels into Éloise and sprinted forward.

It was only a matter of seconds before Damen caught up. “Really?” He sounded breathless, and it was not from the riding.

Laurent kept his eyes straight ahead.

_Don’t think._

“Yes.”

They made light conversation during the rest of the journey. Laurent pointed out a few landmarks in the distance. Damen recounted his first experience as a commander and the time he accidentally fell out of his saddle in front of the soldiers in his charge. Laurent was not one for small talk but found that he enjoyed _this_. There was no pressure to impress or the expectation to respond with poised and well thought out comments.

The sun was bright in the sky when they arrived. Laurent dismounted at the base of a large gentle hill. Their intended destination was just behind it. The incline was shallow enough for them to ride up the slope but Laurent wished for Damen to see their destination on foot, where they could stand side by side.

Laurent took off his riding gloves and passed Nikandros his reins. “Take the horses around.  My guard should be there to meet you.”

Nikandros opened his mouth, face scrunched in protest, but then stopped when Damen also handed his own horse to him. “Thank you, old friend.”

“Of course,” Nikandros mumbled. He set off around the hill, three horses in tow.

“I doubt this is how Nikandros imagined spending his day,” Damen mused.

They trekked uphill, walking through wildflowers.

“Jord is there to keep him company,” said Laurent.

“Don’t forget about the horses.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Damen stopped in his tracks, Laurent coming up beside him. “ _Oh_ ,” was all Damen said.

Atop the hill, they had a clear view of the orange orchard. The lush green trees stretched for miles, aligned in neat rows. Their branches were freckled with bright colour. Laurent could already smell the sweet scent of fruit.

Laurent steeled himself and said with a clear voice in Akielon, “I heard you like apricots but you’ll have to make do with oranges instead.”

Damen whipped his head in Laurent’s direction. “Y-you spoke Akielon?”

Laurent refused to look at Damen. He knew he had a pronounced accent but managed to push through the embarrassment, saying,  “I tried to find an apricot orchard, but they don’t grow well on Veretian soil. The closest thing I could find at a reasonable distance was an orange orchard. I requested fifty apricot trees to be planted near the Veretian-Akielon border but they simply would not grow fast enough. Not to mention, the time it takes to – ” Laurent stopped.

“You spoke Akielon.”

“I’ve been learning,” said Laurent. “From the book you gave me.”

“What do you think of it?”

 _I barely got through ten pages._ “I’ll tell you my opinion once I’m done.”

They descended the hill together. Jord waited for them near the first row of trees. In his hands were two woven baskets. “Your Highness, Exalted,” he greeted. “I hope the trip was pleasant.”

Laurent took the baskets. He handed one to Damen. “It was, thank you.”

“Has Nikandros arrived yet?” Damen asked.

Jord nodded. “He’s tending to the horses. Grouchy, isn’t he?”

Damen laughed. “I’m sure his mood will improve with time.” He turned his attention to Laurent. “My spirits, however, have never been higher. ”

Laurent blushed. “We haven’t set foot in the orchard and you’re already spouting nonsense.”

“Come, then. Let us not waste more time.”

They entered the orchard and were engulfed under the shade of the leaves. It was a leisurely stroll, the birds chirping above, when Laurent felt a hand brush against his own. He dismissed it as an accident until it happened again. Laurent looked down, nonplussed. Damen’s free hand swung at his side, his fingers were stretched out. Laurent considered them. And, once his mind came to a decision, he shut his eyes and caught Damen’s hand.

They continued walking.

Laurent frowned, prying an eye open to peek at their hands, now interlaced. What Laurent thought to be a momentous act dissipated into something rather anticlimactic. “I’m holding your hand,” he said. The warmth of where they were connected spread through Laurent’s body. He became sensitive to Damen’s every move.

The corners of Damen’s mouth were set in a soft smile. He brought their linked fingers up to his lips and kissed the back of Laurent’s palm. “You are.”

“Nothing more to add?”

“I held my tongue in case you found yourself uncomfortable and felt the need to retract your hand.”

“Well,” said Laurent. He came to a halt in front of some low hanging branches abundant with oranges. “I’m not.”

Damen put down the basket in lieu of breaking their handhold to touch an orange. It was yellow with a tint of green. That one was not ready to be picked. “I’ve never gone fruit picking before.”

“Auguste took me to an apple orchard in Acquitart once. It was too long ago, I hardly remember it.” Royalty seldom had the chance for mundane tasks such as visiting an orchard. Why go there yourself when a servant can bring them to you? Not to mention, they had other responsibilities that needed tending. There was simply no time.

Damen looked at Laurent. The sun made his eyes shine. “Then we will make memories today.”

Laurent’s heart leapt. “Do you know how to pick them properly?”

Damen shook his head.

Laurent put down his own basket and pointed at several oranges.  “You have to select one that is firm and smooth to the touch. It should be fully coloured, or else it is not ripe.”

Damen pointed at a large one. “This one?”

Laurent nodded. “Give it a tug and a twist.” There was little to no resistance when the orange broke off its stem. “Good.”

Damen’s cheeks dimpled, the joy clear on his face.

They went from tree to tree, filling up their respective baskets. Laurent had more in his than Damen – the Akielon ate faster than he picked – but he found himself eating his fair share as well.

Their midday meal was brought to them by Nikandros and Jord, who appeared to be in agreeable relations with one another. It was simple, as Laurent had planned. Bread spiced with herbs, soft Veretian-style cheeses, and thin cuts of rabbit were presented to them. Damen complimented the food and went on about how he needed a word with the chef once they returned.

“There’s an annual night festival in the city centre in two days time,” Damen said. They sat next to each other underneath a tree trunk, sunlight filtering through the leaves. It was quiet with the occasional buzz of an insect.

“There is,” said Laurent. The night festival was one of the most anticipated events in Vere. The streets were filled with market stands, lanterns glowing under the moonlight, and various entertainments. Laurent used to go with Auguste every year, before the duties of a Crowned Prince prevented him from leaving the palace. It had been years since Laurent had gone. The idea of roaming the streets alone was unappealing. “What of it?”

There was a long pause. And then: “I have never been.”

Laurent arched a golden eyebrow. “Such a shame. It’s quite the experience.”

Damen glanced at Laurent. He was trying not to smile. “Perhaps this is a situation we need to rectify.”

Laurent crossed his arms, feigning ignorance. “How so?” He wanted Damen to say it.

Damen did not disappoint. “Let me take you to the night festival, Laurent.”

Laurent hummed, as if running the idea over before an impulse took over. “Let’s make a bet.”

“A bet?” Damen quoted Laurent’s words back to him.

Laurent looked upwards and spotted an orange hanging from the very top of the tree. He pushed himself off the ground, pointing to it. “If you can retrieve that orange, I’ll let you take me to the night festival.”

Damen sprang up from his seated position. Laurent noticed the way he rolled his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “I’m quite a good climber,” Damen said.

Laurent crossed his arm and leaned against the trunk. “I believe in results, not talk.”

Damen rubbed his hands together before he leaped to grab onto one of the thicker branches. He heaved himself up using the strength of his two arms. Laurent could do nothing but stare as the muscles flexed, outlines of the veins visible, before the leaves blocked his view.

Laurent felt as he did during the wrestling competition. He rubbed at his cheeks, willing the redness to subside. This certainly was not Laurent’s intent.

Laurent startled when an orange fell in front of his feet. Damen was balancing on what appeared to be a precarious looking branch. It was thinner than his arm. Even from far away, Laurent could see the grin on Damen’s face. “See?” Damen called down. “It was –”

There was a deafening crack and a shout in alarm. To Laurent’s horror, Damen had lost the support underneath him and was tumbling down. More branches broke, oranges and leaves dropped around him. Damen landed on his side with a loud thud.

“ _Damen!_ ”

Laurent was already kneeling beside him. He passed a hand over Damen’s body, checking for injury. “Are you hurt?”

Damen winced. Laurent let out a sigh of relief. If he could feel pain, that was a good sign. Laurent helped Damen roll onto his back and propped him against the tree trunk.

Damen let out a breathless laugh and stared at Laurent with such affection it made his pulse quicken. “You said my name.”

Laurent wanted to slap him. He nearly fell to his death. “I know your name, Damianos.”

Damen reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Laurent’s ear, eyes soft. “You called me _Damen.”_

Laurent flushed, hard. He had not realized the slip. “And what of it? Auguste calls you Damen all the time.”

Damen took both of Laurent’s hands in his and leaned in, close, until their foreheads were almost touching. It was not close enough. “It’s different when you say it.”

The sound of twigs snapping and rustling leaves caused them to turn their heads. It did not come from the tree this time. Jord and Nikandros came into view, sprinting, hands to the hilt of their swords.  
  
“Unhand the Prince of Vere immediately,” Jord said. “This level of touching is absolutely inappropriate –”  
  
Nikandros turned to Jord. “You dare accuse the Prince of Akielos of such untoward behaviour? He goes beyond the standard of chivalry.”  
  
“Jord, this is unnecessary.” Laurent cut in, just as Damen said, “Nikandros, that’s enough.”  
  
The tension and posturing between Jord and Nikandros would have been amusing, if it weren’t Laurent who was chagrined. “Nothing improper has taken place between us.”  
  
“I was reckless and had a small fall,” Damen continued, holding his hands up. Laurent flickered his eyes from where Damen fell. Small, indeed. “I am fine. All is well.”  
  
That seemed to satisfy Jord, but Nikandros still peered at them with narrow eyes.  
  
Damen stretched out his arm and tossed the fruit of his labour to Laurent. “How was the result?”

Laurent peeled the orange. He ate a slice, sweet and refreshing. “Adequate,” was all he said.

 

* * *

 

They returned to the palace just as the sun disappeared under the horizon. Torches were already lit along the palace walls. Only a handful of servants milled about, finishing their duties for the day.

Laurent dismounted, satisfied with the slight ache in his thighs that came with long periods of riding.

“Where shall we put the oranges, Prince Laurent?” Jord asked, motioning to Nikandros who had just entered the courtyard. On the way back, Nikandros was delegated the task of carrying all their baskets. He had to travel slower than the rest.

“The kitchen will be fine,” said Laurent. “Ask the servants to bring us each a bowl when morning comes.”

“Of course.” Jord bowed. “I will leave to retire. I bid you goodnight, Your Highness, Exalted.”

Nikandros said his own farewells before making himself scarce.

Laurent and Damen brought their horses back into the stables. Éloise was obedient as Laurent cleaned and brushed her coat. Once he put all the equipment away, he fed her an apple, patting her neck and mumbling praises. Laurent looked over at Damen’s stall, whose stallion seemed to be giving him some trouble.

“He’s not as friendly as yours,” said Damen.

Laurent entered Damen’s stall and held out his hand for the horse to smell. Only when the horse familiarized himself with Laurent’s scent did he pet his nose. “ _He_ still hasn’t been named,” said Laurent. “Of course he dislikes you.”

Damen chuckled, remembering their previous conversation. “I thought you would help me with that.”

With the horses groomed and the stables in order, they left, walking up the stairs. “I told you I would think about it, not do the work for you.”

They came to a halt as the corridor split into two pathways. Here, they would part to their respective chambers. _I don’t want this day to end_ , Laurent thought. The revelation frightened him. The idea of letting someone inside his walls, of giving someone the opportunity to hurt him…

After today, Laurent felt as though something between them had changed.

Damen took ahold of his hand and the uneasiness subsided. “Laurent,” said Damen. “I –” He looked down and away. “You are under no obligation to attend the night festival with me. Not if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Laurent confessed and smiled. “I haven’t gone in years.”

Damen furrowed his brow. “Then why did you make me climb a tree?”

Laurent’s smile grew. “It pleased me to give you a challenge.”

Damen tilted Laurent’s chin up so their eyes met. The atmosphere inexplicably shifted. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He moved in closer, and Laurent widened his eyes, understanding taking hold. Laurent shut his eyes before it all became too much. He felt the gentle press of lips on his right cheek, soft like the brush of a feather. “Did that please you?”

“Yes,” Laurent heard himself say. “Yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been too long since I've updated! Life seems to enjoy throwing hardships my way lol
> 
> Thank you so much for being patient and for always encouraging me :) Hope the wait was worth it!


	9. The Night Festival

 “You’re smiling.”

Laurent startled out of his reverie, the image of orange trees and white flowers vanishing into the sawdust covered floors of the private training ground. He glanced at Auguste and disliked the way his cheeks reddened, as if caught in some illicit act. “Contrary to court gossip, I do in fact have that ability.”

Auguste tossed a wooden practice sword to Laurent, which he caught, thankfully, on the first try. “It’s not the same one you wear at court,” his brother mused. “Genuine. Happy, even.”

Laurent watched as Auguste crossed the room to select a weapon of his own. It appeared heavy; its blade was wider than Laurent’s. From the slight protrusion at the hilt, indicating some kind of plug, it was most likely filled with sand. “I have every reason to be happy in the company of my brother.”

They got into position. “You flatter me,” said Auguste, as they engaged in a rudimentary sequence of passes. “But I don’t believe that smile was intended in my direction.”

Auguste feinted and lunged forward. Laurent brought his sword up in time to block the blow. The last time Auguste had done that, Laurent had been knocked in the dirt. It was a victory of sorts. He had to take pleasure in small victories. “Oh?”

Auguste grinned, eyebrow arched knowingly. “I heard that you went on an outing with Prince Damianos yesterday.” Laurent’s footing faltered at the mention of Damen. Auguste’s sword hit Laurent’s side where he failed to protect. He staggered back three steps in recovery. “Stay focused,” Auguste reminded him. The tone was too cheerful for Laurent’s liking.

Laurent kept a straight face. It took more effort than he was willing to admit. He regained a proper stance and swept his weapon up, ready for another round. Instead of letting Auguste make the first move, Laurent attacked. He aimed low in hopes of taking Auguste by surprise. But a Crowned Prince with years of military experience was not so easily caught off-guard. Their swords collided.

They sprang apart. Laurent’s breathing was shallow, feeling some strain in his muscles. Auguste, however, did not show any signs of exertion.

“What of it?” Laurent spoke without inflection.

“Nothing,” said Auguste, though it was clearly _something_. “It’s just that the two of you seem quite amiable with one another.”

Laurent thought of the way Damen’s hand fit into his own at the orchard. The way Damen brushed a strand of hair away from his face. The way Damen leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and how Laurent wished –

– he could focus on sword work. He was practicing with Auguste. He needed to focus. “Amiable is a word for it.”

Auguste swung his sword and forced Laurent to raise his own to block, taking a defensive position again. “He is a wonderful man,” said Auguste. “I’m glad you are both on good terms.”

There was an opening in Auguste’s attack. Laurent sidestepped, parried, and thrust his sword forward to hit Auguste in the chest. Laurent felt a swell of pride when Auguste nodded in approval. “That was better,” he praised. “Your wrist and arm movement are more fluid. Let’s have you dislodge my sword.”

Auguste instructed Laurent on the ways of disarming a soldier. He demonstrated each method in slow motion while explaining what scenarios he would use them in. After, it was Laurent’s turn. It took several tries, but he understood the gist of it.

“You’re learning this faster than I expected,” Auguste said, picking up his fallen sword. “Perhaps you’ll surpass me in the field as you have done on the chessboard. I’ve been meaning to ask you, did you end up playing a match against Damianos in the library?”

 _Chess is where it all began_ , Laurent wanted to say. “I believe my success has to do with your lack of concentration,” said Laurent. “Perhaps you should take your own advice and focus instead of speaking about Damen at every given opportunity.”

“So he’s _Damen_ now, little brother?”

Laurent flushed. In an attempt to hide his blunder, he threw himself into his attack. Auguste countered with ease and grace that reflected his years of military experiences. “Our nations are to be friends,” Laurent managed to say between passes. “I believed it to be appropriate.”

“And I believe the two of you are quite suited for each other.”

Their swords came together. Auguste leaned forward, body weight transferred through wood. There was slight pressure on Laurent’s wrist as he resisted the manoeuvre, but it wasn’t enough to hurt him or make him drop his sword. That was how Auguste trained with Laurent; he pressed in order to challenge him, but never to the point where he felt overpowered.  

Laurent angled his sword upward, blade slid against blade. With a quick twist and a pull, Auguste’s sword fell out of arm’s reach.

Laurent pointed the tip of his sword at Auguste’s chest. “Speak plainly,” he said.

Auguste saw no threat. He grabbed the wooden length, yanked it out of Laurent’s grip, and turned the blade so it faced Laurent - a reverse in position. “There is no alternative meaning to my words,” he said while lowering the sword. “I am merely stating an observation.”

 “Well then,” said Laurent, not completely convinced but unsure of what else to say. “I thank you for your honesty.”

“How about we go again?” Auguste offered. Laurent was thankful for the change in topic. “This time, pay more attention to my footing and anticipate my next move.”

They practiced for another hour before a servant came to announce that their midday meal was prepared. A quick clean-up and a change of clothes later, they ate in the grand hall with the King. It was a quiet affair; the only sounds were the servant’s’ footsteps as they brought out new plates and the occasional clank of utensils.

“Laurent.”

Laurent looked up from his plate, surprised to be spoken to. “Yes, Father?”

King Aleron averted his eyes but that was nothing new. He rarely made eye contact with Laurent. _You remind him of the Queen_ , Auguste told him once as a child. _It still pains him after all these years. Don’t take it to heart._ “As you understand, the night festival is tomorrow.”

“I’m aware, Father.”

“Auguste and I are unable to attend this year. This, however, should not restrict you from enjoying the evening.” He cleared his throat. “It would please the court if there was royal representation, especially with the Akielon ambassadors paying visit.”

“I understand, Father.”

“Excellent. Then you will accompany Prince Damianos.”

Auguste, having been silent the whole conversation, now turned towards to the King. “Father, Laurent may not be comfortable - ”

“One of Laurent’s duties as Prince of Vere is to build international relations,” the King cut him off. “As of now, the focus will be with Akielos. He is fully capable of keeping the Akielon Prince entertained for one night. From what I have heard, this will not be the first occurrence of princely camaraderie.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. What had Father heard about him and Damen? Before Laurent could utter a response, Auguste said, “Yes, they have been on excursions together but nothing as grandiose as this. With all due respect, these things cannot be rushed!”

“I have yet to see much progress,” said the King. “Tomorrow will test the arrangement and see whether it has viable potential. If not, I have to take matters into my own hands.” The King gave Auguste a pointed look, one that Auguste returned.

It was evident by their silent conversation that Father had some knowledge of their courtship. Laurent would have to hound Auguste on how Father gained such an insight later.

“Laurent is also seated at this table,” said Laurent, miffed. “And can very well contribute to your discussions.” Two sets of blue eyes looked at him, prompting. It was unnecessary for Auguste and Father to know that Laurent had originally planned on going with Damen. He supposed this scenario worked in everyone’s favour. “I have no qualms accompanying Prince Damianos to the night festival.”

The King nodded and tapped the table. “Then it is decided. Your escorts will be ready by your door at twilight.”

Laurent froze. “Escorts are not imperative.” He kept his tone light. “We will be in the public eye. I’m sure that is more than enough surveillance.”

“Nonsense,” the King tutted. “It is only appropriate that two men of your rank are to be chaperoned at all times. This is a safety precaution as well as to ensure that nothing improper takes place.”

“And who are to be our chaperones?” Laurent would tolerate Jord or Nikandros at the most.

The King, however, thought otherwise. “I will arrange to have the Council act as chaperones. The meeting is between Auguste and I, so they will not be needed in the palace.”

Laurent suppressed a frown. He wanted his time with Damen to have a semblance of privacy. Five old men trailing in their wake would only sour Laurent’s mood. No, that simply would not do.

He held his tongue for the time being. Any objection would not be the wise choice at the moment. “Very well,” said Laurent as he stood up. “If you will excuse me, I’d like to rest.”

 _There was no time for rest,_ Laurent thought. He had to contrive a plan to get rid of the chaperones.

 

* * *

 

Laurent found himself in the library. He reclined on the couch, head propped on one hand, Damen’s book opened before him. He translated the final verse of the Conquest of Arsaces with half hearted hope that this activity would bring about a well timed epiphany to solve his predicament.

Laurent felt a mixture of frustration and mild amusement at being unable to come up with a viable resolution. If there was one thing Laurent excelled at, it would be thinking. And here he was, unable to do just that. How could Laurent go against the word of the King without appearing perverse? All his ideas had the potential of rippling rumours or the cries of scandal. Nothing was foolproof, which was what Laurent strove for. There were too many variables. Too much risk.

Laurent rubbed his temples, closing his eyes to centre himself. A headache was not what he needed. Once he felt grounded, he turned to his task, finishing off what little translating was left.

When it was done, Laurent placed his sheet alongside the original. He had not yet read the lyrics from beginning to end. His eyes widened as he read each line in succession, the tight feeling in his chest expanded when he reached the last line:

_The world was not made for beauty like his._

Laurent’s heart sped up involuntarily. This was a... love song?

Laurent couldn’t think. Did not know _what_ to think. He flipped through the book, fingers stiff and oddly uncooperative, scanning each page. Sure enough, he recognized enough Akielon words to support his theory. This book was a declaration of admiration. Yearning. Love. Every text, be it poetry, story, or song, was related to love in some way.

And Damen gave this to Laurent. Damen intended for Laurent to read this. Laurent wondered, not for the first time, if this light-headedness was normal. He thought of orange trees and white flowers.

“What are you reading?”

“A novel.” Laurent closed the book, heart rate increased tenfold. It was Nicaise, peering over the couch. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for the festival with your father? I’m sure he would appreciate the help.”

Nicaise shrugged, going around the couch to sit on the chair adjacent to him. He wore more jewellery than usual, the abundant amount of gold bracelets and necklaces jingling as he got comfortable in his seat. “I already took stock of the jewellery and organized them on the display. He gave me these,” Nicaise rose an arm, setting off another round of jingling, “so I could advertise.”

Laurent looked around the empty library, nodding thoughtfully. “Yes, there is much opportunity for advertisement here. Now tell me, how much are those sapphire earrings? Any chance of a discount?”

“Fuck you,” Nicaise spat. “I went around the palace before I came here. Even managed to bribe half the soldiers into purchasing from our stand.”

“I expected no less,” said Laurent.

Nicaise stood up and opened Damen’s book. “What language is that?”

“Akielon,” said Laurent. He resisted the urge to take it back. “It was a present.”

“From the giant animal? You must _really_ like him.”

“I told you not to call him that,” said Laurent. Then, “There’s no need to ask a question when you already know the answer.”

Nicaise hummed, skimming over the pages. “The words are strange looking. I can’t recognize anything.” He closed the cover and pushed it away from him. “This is boring.”  

An idea flickered in Laurent’s mind like the spark of a new flame. Laurent couldn’t help the sly smile that was forming on his face. The solution to his problem, really, was a simple one. “I may have a way to alleviate your boredom.” And because it was Nicaise, Laurent added, “Your efforts will be rewarded, of course. How does a gold coin sound?”

Nicaise straightened in his seat, gleam in his eyes. Laurent had his full attention. “Make it two.”

“Deal,” said Laurent. “I need you to find a man named Charls.”

 

* * *

 

Any parcel intended for royalty had to be thoroughly checked before it was given to them. Laurent understood the reason for precaution – poisoning, treason, and inappropriate conduct being a few examples – but it became an obstacle of sorts to his own objectives.

There were two parts to Laurent’s plan, each providing their own challenges. The first depended on Nicaise’s ability to follow Laurent’s instruction. The items Nicaise collected on Laurent’s behalf were not small, and could not be given in person without raising immediate suspicion. The items also could not be passed along to a third party. The less people involved, the better.

This was, ultimately, why Laurent made his way down the barren hallways of the palace just shy of dawn. He had slipped out of his bedroom in the midst of the bi-hourly guard rotations, using the shadows to remain undetected.

He arrived at the stables without trouble, moving silently past the sleeping horses. Laurent glanced at the stable boy every so often to ensure he slumbered and did not wake. It would not be ideal to be discovered unattended at this hour.

Éloise blinked awake when Laurent opened the door to her stall. He stroked her nose, shushing her to not make noise. She nuzzled her head against Laurent’s chest, once, before closing her eyes. It was nice to have such a cooperative horse.

Laurent went to the far corner of the stall and bent down next to the inconspicuous pile of hay in the corner. A cloth bag was placed underneath the straw as was instructed. Laurent peered inside, taking quick inventory of the items. Satisfied, Laurent took the bag and made his way upstairs.

The guards in front of his door startled when Laurent appeared around the corner. He walked with authority, the clicks of his boots on the hard floor resonated across the hallway. The shock was evident in their expressions. One of them recovered first and bowed deeply. The other followed. “Your Highness,” the first guard stammered, standing at attention. “W-we thought you were resting.”

An arched eyebrow. “Evidently, I am not.”

“Yes, of course, Your Highness,” the other said. “Apologies.”

They moved on either side of the door and held it open for Laurent. As Laurent passed, the first guard spotted the cloth bag. He said rather tentatively, “I mean no disrespect, Your Highness, but may I inquire what is inside the bag? It’s protocol, as you know.”

Laurent anticipated this scenario. He reached into the bag and pulled out a large book. “I was in the library and forgot the time. Is this satisfactory or would you like me to take out the rest of them?”

“No, not at all, Your Highness,” he said hastily.

It was only when the door fell shut did Laurent relax his posture. He unlaced his jacket and placed it on the back of a chair. He pulled off his tall leather boots. Once comfortable, Laurent took another glance at the items Nicaise brought for him. Laurent hid them in one of the chests in his room for safekeeping and promptly prepared for bed.

It was going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

 

The second part of the plan came in effect as Laurent came down to have breakfast with Auguste, late. Laurent was never late. Auguste inquired if Laurent was tired, having heard the night guards’ reports. Laurent denied any tiredness. He did state, however, that he had no appetite. In fact, he felt a little sore.

“Shall I ask for Paschal?” Auguste asked, brows furrowed.

Laurent stood up, shaking his head. “I think I may rest for a bit. My muscles are most likely aching from practice.”

While Laurent was at breakfast, he had arranged for a servant to draw a bath. It was ready for him when Laurent came back into the room adjoining his bedchamber. The wooden tub was filled with steaming water. A bucket, clean towels, and a face cloth were also brought.

Laurent undressed and went to the side of the tub, staring at the tendrils of steam curling around him. He dipped a finger to test the temperature. It was hot. Laurent closed his eyes and took a steeling breath before he lowered himself into the tub through gritted teeth. It hurt, slightly, as the water heated up his skin. He reached for the soap – partly to clean his body, but also to distract him from the way his skin tingled.

After washing and rinsing, Laurent took the face cloth and soaked it in a bucket of clean water. He wrung the cloth of excess water and placed it on his forehead. Instead of pain, Laurent found that the heat was now soothing. The air had cooled the cloth to an agreeable temperature. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

But not too long. Heat was a key element in Laurent’s plan. Laurent stepped out of the tub. He towelled himself, grateful that the soft fabric didn’t irritate his tender skin. He dressed in pants and a loose shirt, not bothering with his doublet.

Laurent looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was, lack for a better word, thoroughly cooked. His skin was flushed a deep pink, face blotched red. It would easily pass for illness.

He called for a servant. “Let the King know that I feel unwell,” he said. “I will remain in my bedchamber tonight.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the servant bowed. “Would you like me to call Paschal?”

“He knows of my condition and has already given the remedies.” Laurent had seen Paschal last night claiming he had a headache. When given aromatic oils to promote relaxation, Laurent thanked him and made sure that any concerns of Laurent’s conditions were to be disregarded. “All I require is undisturbed rest. No one is to come in.”

“Of course.” Another bow. “Anything else, Your Highness?”

“Make sure Prince Damianos of Akielos has word of this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Laurent dismissed his guards a half hour before the first lantern was lit. “Jord will be here momentarily,” Laurent told them. “Your presence is no longer required for the evening.”

A little investigating would reveal that Laurent had in fact relieved Jord of his duties this morning. At Jord’s high level of gratitude, Laurent had an inkling that he had hoped to attend the night festival, perhaps to even take someone with him. But the Prince’s Guard would not doubt Laurent’s word. There would be no investigation.

Guards gone, Laurent went to retrieve the cloth bag. He laid out the items on his bed, seeing them in detail for the first time. Commoner clothing, he noted, had little to no embellishments. The colours were a neutral tone with a basic stitching pattern. It was what an average civilian would wear. No one would stand out in these clothes.

They were perfect.

Laurent got changed. Although the appearance of these clothes was plain, Charls chose a fine material that was comfortable and soft. The next time Laurent saw him, he would give him his thanks.

Damen’s bedchamber was located in the west wing, a space where foreigners resided while in the palace. Laurent did not need to ask which room was Damen’s. Damen, being the only royal representative among the Akielon ambassadors, would be staying in the largest and most opulent room.

And that was where Laurent stood in front of now. He was slightly behind schedule – the path he took to get to the west wing had more guards than he anticipated. He had to reroute his course a few times.

No matter. There were ways to make up time.

Laurent knocked three times and waited. When there was no immediate response – he could not hear any footsteps or scuffling – Laurent knocked again.

He knew the risk of not involving Damen in his plan. Damen could have gone without Laurent. Or worse, Damen could have gone with someone else after being informed that he was supposedly ill.

Damen surely had many admirers. It was foolish of Laurent to assume that he was the only man that had Damen’s attention. He should have said something to Damen. Passed a note. But the surprise of _this_ , the reaction Laurent hoped to earn, was worth the gamble.

Feeling somewhat naïve, Laurent decided to return to his bedchamber. He would pretend nothing had happened. He pushed aside the trickling disappointment that filled his headspace. For the first time, Laurent had wanted –

The sound of a door swinging open. “Laurent?”

Laurent was not prepared for what he saw when he turned around. It was Damen, fully nude, clutching nothing but a bed sheet to shield his nakedness. “W-what are you doing here?”

There was no way Laurent could prevent the redness rapidly spreading across his face. Laurent averted his eyes and pushed pass Damen into the room. “Close the door.” Damen closed the door. “I could ask the same question,” said Laurent. His back was still to Damen. He was not sure if it was due to Damen’s current state of undress or the fact that Laurent was having difficulty finding his composure.

“I was about to sleep,” said Damen. “When I heard about your health, I insisted I wanted to see you but the servant wouldn’t allow it. They said you were not accepting visitors and I –” Damen paused. “I would not go to the festival without you. It wouldn’t be the same.”

Damen slept naked. Laurent did not know what to do with that information.

“I hope you’re not tired,” was what Laurent settled with. “It would put a damper on my plans.”

“Are you well?” Damen asked. “The servant said something about a fever. If you feel sick –”

“ _Prince_ Laurent is bedridden for the night,” he cut Damen off. “ _Laurent_ , however, is in perfect health.”

“What do you –?”

Laurent tossed the cloth bag to him. “Get changed.”

 

* * *

 

 

They left through the stables and headed to the city on foot – horses were not a feasible way of maintaining secrecy. Laurent set the pace at a brisk walk. The journey would not take too long.

“You’ll have to excuse me for my ignorance,” said Damen. “But why can we not go as ourselves?” He tugged at the Veretian shirt he was wearing. It was small on him, despite Laurent’s efforts of getting the largest set of Veretian clothes Charls had available. Laurent could see every bulge of muscle on Damen’s arms, shoulders and chest. It was distracting.

“Going as Prince Damianos and Prince Laurent would enthrall the entire Council to act as chaperones.”

Damen frowned. “The whole Council does seem a bit superfluous, but –”

“Did I mention that Herode is a slow walker? We would barely make half a street before the sun rises. Audin would insist on standing between us and Chelaut would not hesitate to document our conversations. Mathe and Jeurre would mostly likely trail behind and observe our behaviour. Outloud.”

“Oh.”

Laurent glanced at Damen. “As I thought. I would prefer to spend my evening in anonymity.” It took Laurent a second to realize that Damen had stopped walking. “What is it,” Laurent asked. “Changed your mind?”

Damen walked up to Laurent, slow careful steps. His eyes were, for some odd reason, bright with wonder. Laurent didn’t think he had done anything to cause such a look. “You went out of your way so we could be together. Alone.”

He was so close that Laurent had to look up. “If you had just figured that out now, you are not very observant.”

“On the contrary, I think the opposite.” Damen took both of Laurent’s hands in his. They were warm. “You try to hide it,” said Damen. “But the truth is you’re very sweet, aren’t you?”

Laurent didn’t think his heart could beat any faster. “It’s all a matter of opinion.”

“Then now you know of mine.” Closer. “What do you think of it?”

Laurent stepped back. It was not because this attention was not unwanted, but because he had a plan. They were to go to the night festival, not loiter on a trail path. They were already behind schedule. “I think that my efforts will go to waste if we don’t continue walking.” He marched onward, not looking back. “Make haste or I’ll leave you behind.”

They made fast time. Soon, they could see the glow of lights behind the trees. Laurent could hear the sounds of a traditional Veretian melody playing in the distance. “We’re here,” he said. “This way.”

Laurent took two steps before Damen caught his wrist. “Wait. Your hair will stand out in the crowd. If we step out in the street, everyone will know who you are.”

Laurent pulled out a woollen cap that Charls had provided out and put it on, tucking the strands of blond hair inside. “You were saying?”

Damen shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve really thought of everything.”

“Come,” said Laurent. “The night is young.”

 

* * *

 

The last time Laurent had gone to the night festival, he had been thirteen. He remembered holding onto Auguste’s sleeve as they roamed the marketplace so he would not get lost. It was customary for royalty to greet every vendor that participated in the festival. Laurent remembered hiding behind Auguste’s back so he did not have to speak – he never enjoyed socializing.

When they finished making their rounds, the princes would take their seats on a raised platform at the main square and watch various spectacles. Laurent enjoyed the way dancers would incorporate lanterns in their performance, balancing them on their heads while twirling sticks lit with fire. At the end of the evening, Auguste allowed Laurent to take a lantern back to his room.

But that had all been when Laurent attended as a prince. He realized now, dressed in commoner clothing with Damen in tow, he would have a jarringly different experience this time.

No one so much as glanced at them when they merged onto the street. Everywhere they looked was bustling with activity. Games, merchants and food stalls were scattered from left to right. Starburst lanterns were hung between buildings, shining brightly while they cast intricate shadows against the walls.

The streets were packed with people, Veretian and Akielon alike. Children waved sparklers in the air and chased each other between people’s feet. Clusters of people sung and clapped to the music with boisterous energy. Almost everyone had a tankard in their hands.

“You were right,” said Damen. His voice was almost drowned out by their surroundings. “This is quite the experience!”

“What would you like to do?” Laurent asked. In truth, he was at a loss. They had arrived at their destination. This was where his planning had ended.

Someone jostled Damen and shouted, with drunken enthusiasm, for them to stop blocking the way. Damen took Laurent’s hand in his and said, “Let’s explore.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was refreshing to be a commoner, Laurent realized. There were no expectations. No one bothered him. Laurent hunched his shoulders and glanced around him, feeling a childish sense of glee when he was not scolded.

“You’re smiling,” said Damen.

“I’m happy,” Laurent confessed. It was the truth.

“Me too.”

They purchased a bag of sweetmeats and shared it while going down a row of stalls, eyeing the merchandise being sold. A stall selling riding equipment caught Laurent’s attention.

The vendor was an old woman with grey hair and missing teeth. “Welcome, welcome!” she said. “See anything you like?”

“Just looking.” Laurent ran his hands over a pair of leather riding gloves. They were a rich brown colour and soft to the touch. It was obvious the material was of the finest quality.

“You have a keen eye,” the woman told him. “These beauties were made in the Vaskian mountains and were sown together with golden thread. I guarantee that they will last you a lifetime!”

Laurent retracted his hand. He smiled politely. They were nice, but Laurent could survive without them. “I’m just looking.”

A presence came up beside him. “How much?” Damen asked.

“Damen.”

“Four silver coins,” she replied. “It’s a worthy purchase.”

Damen turned to Laurent. “You like these?” He picked up the riding gloves and pulled out a coin pouch. “I’ll take them.”

“ _Damen.”_

“What a lovely man you have,” the woman chuckled. She accepted the money and placed the gloves in a small bag. She winked as she handed them over Laurent. “He’s a keeper!”

It was when they walked away did Laurent jab Damen in the stomach. “Ow,” said Damen.

“That was completely unnecessary,” said Laurent. “I already have a pair.”

Damen drew them to the side to avoid bumping into the flow of people. He brought one of Laurent’s hands up to his lips. “And now you have two.”

“Stop that,” Laurent was helplessly blushing. How could he not, when Damen did such things?

They continued their way through the streets until they arrived at the main square. To one side, a group of musicians were playing a jolly tune. At the centre, pairs of individuals were dancing. Their movements were not stiff and precise, like what Laurent would find at an aristocrat’s soirée, but carefree and jubilant.

Laurent watched two Veretian boys sway together, grins on their faces.

“Would you like to dance?”

Laurent looked at Damen with incredulity. “No,” he said, a tad too quickly. “I don’t dance.” 

“Which version,” Damen teased. “Prince Laurent, or Laurent?”

“Neither.”

Laurent knew the basic steps of a waltz and could survive a dance with a delegate if need be. He was unable - nor was he confident enough - to execute any dance with fervour, much less in an attractive and enticing manner. Damen probably envisioned a dance with a professional. Not a thin, coming of age prince with no experience.

“Give me what you promised! I won fair and square!”

“Get out of here, you pesky brat. You’re wasting my time.”

Laurent turned his head to the noise. That was Nicaise.

“What’s wrong?” Damen asked, sensing the way Laurent stiffened.

“We’ll find out,” said Laurent.

The source of the commotion was located at the end of the street. Sure enough, there was Nicaise. He was seated at a dark desk across from an older man with greasy, straw-like hair. They were arguing as people in their immediate vicinity looked on.

Laurent strode up to the table. “What seems to be the problem?” He set cool eyes on the man.

If Laurent had not been in disguise, everyone would be on their knees. The man offered no more than a brief, dismissive glance. “Ain’t none of your business.”

Nicaise recognized Laurent immediately. “I beat him at a cards and now he won’t pay what he owes.”

“I don’t lose to _kids_ ,” the man spat. “Scram or I’ll get rid of you myself.”

“Don’t lose to children or too embarrassed to admit to it?”

“Who do you think you are, walking here all high and mighty,” the man sneered. “The Prince of Vere?”

Laurent, somehow, found it in himself to not smirk. “Actually,” he said. “I’m well acquainted with him. Both of them, really.”

Everyone around the table laughed, hands slapping the table and beating each other in the chest. “You hear that, Volo?” One of the bystanders roared. “He’s well acquainted with the Prince!”

Another round of laughter.

Volo wiped tears from his eyes. “You’re full of shit, that’s what you are.”

“Your confidence would be admirable, if you were not the personification of dirt,” said Laurent. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

Volo leered at him. “You want to try with me?”

Damen cleared his throat. “Perhaps there is an alternate and more agreeable solution that –”

Laurent took the seat Nicaise sat in. He knew the type of man Volo was; he had read about them in novels and had heard stories about them from Auguste and Jord. Laurent knew the tricks and he would handle Volo accordingly. “Gladly.”

Volo bet a handful of silver coins. Someone could buy a pony with that money. Laurent bet all of Nicaise’s jewellery. “Hey!” Nicaise protested, before a hard look from Laurent silenced him.

Volo shuffled his cards, all earmarked and wrinkled, and dealt the deck. Laurent was familiar with the game and knew how to play. A crowd gathered around them, whispering and placing their own bets.

Laurent was not surprised when Volo won. “Ha! You just made me a rich man.” He stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at Laurent. “Give me my prize.”

Laurent rose from his chair, calm and poised. “Prizes are won when the game is fair,” he said and turned to Nicaise. “Why don’t you show the audience our discovery?”

Nicaise grinned and yanked a man hiding in the crowd into the open. In his hands was a mirror. Small enough that it would not be noticeable in a gathering, but large enough that someone sitting across a table could see its reflection.

A ripple of gasps arose from the crowd. All but Laurent and Nicaise wore an expression of shock. Damen, who stood beside them, was doing little to hide the disgust from his face. Of course Damen, the embodiment of honour and good morals, would not have expected such a trick.

“Cheater!” A woman cried.

“I want my money back!” Someone else shouted.

Volo’s face was red with rage. His hands were curled into fists. “You’re going to pay for that,” he said.

Damen took a step forward, shielding both Laurent and Nicaise behind him. “We’re not looking for a fight,” he said. “Walk away and let your humility serve as punishment.”

“There’ll be punishment alright.” Volo rolled his head and cracked his knuckles. “But it won’t be you that serves it.”

Laurent placed a hand on Damen’s forearm, holding him back. At Damen’s questioning glance, Laurent shook his head. They were still undercover and could not afford to pick up a fight. Not here, not now.

Nicaise looked at Laurent, who then looked at Damen. In a moment of pure synchrony, they all grasped the edge of the table, and flipped it onto Volo, spilling coins and cards everywhere. They ran down the street.

“Get ‘em!” Volo yelled, and the chase began.

People turned heads as three figures sped past them, swerving around tables, jumping over chairs, and ducking under low-strung decorations. Their eyes followed them – an Akielon, a Veretian and a child? What an odd combination – until a fury of chaos made them look back. A band of old ragged men were pursuing them, far less graceful.

Laurent saw a hidden alleyway up ahead and slipped inside. Damen and Nicaise followed.

“I thought you knew better than to play against a cardsharp,” said Laurent, catching his breath.

“He made fun of me,” Nicaise pouted. “He called me short.”

“You _are_ short,” Laurent replied. He heard a thud behind him. They were catching up. Laurent pushed Nicaise down the alley. “Damen and I will take care of them. You stay out of trouble, understand?”

Nicaise reluctantly nodded. He grumbled, “I could have taken them,” before disappearing from view.

“Well that was an unexpected turn of events,” Damen said, letting out a string of unrestrained laughter.

Laurent’s laugh was more subdued, but that was because he was still recovering from the sprint. “I can assure you that this was not planned.”

“There they are!” Volo and his men appeared from the corner.

“Follow me,” said Laurent and they took off.  

Laurent knew the area well but he was no match for Volo, who probably lurked around the city streets his whole life. There were only so many twist and turns Laurent could make before they were cornered.

“We need to lose them,” said Damen as they ran side-by-side. “Do you see anything we can use?” 

Laurent’s eyes darted around. There was a wooden cart up ahead. A good obstacle. Minimal long-run effect. A string of lanterns? No, not good enough. Laurent trailed his eyes higher and -

Laurent skid to a stop. “The ladder!” 

“You go first,” said Damen. “I’ll keep a look out.”

Laurent gripped the first rung and proceeded to climb. He was halfway up when he felt the metal vibrate beneath his fingers, indicating that Damen had started to ascend as well. Reaching the rooftop, Laurent heaved himself over.

“Up there,” someone shouted. “I see them on the rooftop!”

Damen pulled himself onto the roof and kicked the highest rung of the ladder. It fell and clattered onto the street, unable to be used. There was a yelp of alarm to take cover and a subsequent cry from Volo to split up.

The chase became a test of reflex, agility and stamina. Laurent focused on his footing, watching for stray tiles and paying extra care to the uneven paving of the roof. Winds were more powerful at this altitude and Laurent had to bring his arms up to balance himself. Any mistake would mean broken limbs and a very stern talk with the King that Laurent would very much like to avoid.

Damen ran in front of him, outlining a route full of sharp turns and unexpected twists for Laurent to take. Every leap from roofs and balconies sent a new flare of adrenaline to course through Laurent’s body. The midair suspension and exhilaration uncovered a feeling Laurent had never felt before.

They came to a stop on a flat roof fixture. “I think we’re safe,” said Damen. They listened for heavy footsteps, but all was quiet. “We lost them.”

Laurent braced his hand on the chimney, his chest rising and falling. He focused on breathing, the crisp night air cooling his flushed skin. That was the most exercise Laurent had done in a while.  

Damen placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head, smile on face. “This reminds me of the time Nikandros and I were both boys, wreaking havoc in Ios.”

“It's hard to imagine Nikandros as someone brimming with mischief.”

Damen laughed. “Believe it or not, he was the one who came up with the most outrageous ideas. I had to take the blame whenever we got in trouble though. Being the Crowned Prince, I never received harsh punishment.”

“You’ll have to enlighten me with these stories one day,” said Laurent.

“Whenever you wish,” said Damen and sat down, legs dangling over the edge. He patted the spot next to him. “I think we deserve a well earned rest.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Laurent took the invitation and settled beside him, their shoulders brushing. He could feel the warmth of Damen’s body seeping into his own.

They stayed like this for an indefinite amount of time.

“It’s beautiful,” said Damen.

Laurent looked ahead, at the skyline and the endless expanse of stars that stretched across the horizon. They were the only sources of light, save for the faint glow of the lanterns in the distance. They were far from the city centre at this point.

 _It’s getting late,_ was what Laurent should say. _We should head back._

“I’ve always been fond of stars,” was what actually left Laurent’s mouth. “They stay with you no matter where you are, even when you can’t see them. It's a comfort for me. To have a constant in my life besides Auguste.”

That was awfully personal, Laurent realized. Damen might not want to hear it.

“There’s a summer palace in Ios outside the capital,” came Damen’s reply. “There are gardens, fountains and tracks for riding. The beaches are my favourite, especially at night. The stars are brilliant and you feel as if the whole world was before you.” A hesitant pause. Perhaps it wasn’t only Laurent who felt vulnerable. “If you visit Akielos one day, we could take horses and stay a week in the palace.”

Laurent had rarely thought of the future. The uncertainty scared him. But now, all he could think about was his future. With Damen. 

And it terrified him.

Laurent was terrified at how much he wanted this.  

“I’d like that,” said Laurent, letting his soft words be swept away by the breeze. He turned to Damen, who was looking at him. “Why are you staring at me? The view is out there.”

Damen reached out, slow, to tuck a strand of hair behind Laurent’s ear. The hand stayed where it was, an anchor. They were breathing each other’s air. “You are the view, Laurent. When I look into your eyes, I see the world.”

That was when Damen leaned in halfway, eyes sparkling, bringing them closer than Laurent thought possible. Their noses touched. Laurent watched him, blue eyes on brown, waiting for what was inevitably going to happen.

But Damen didn’t move. He stayed where he was, waiting for something. The realization must have been evident in Laurent’s face, for Damen’s face softened and tilted his chin up in encouragement. Laurent closed his eyes and leaned forward to close the distance.

The soft press of lips against his own magnified every sensation in Laurent’s body. He had seen other people kiss on the mouth before, knew it must feel nice if they did it so often, but never imagined the experience to feel like this. Damen raised his other hand now, sliding it over Laurent’s nape, almost like a cradle, tilting Laurent’s head in a way that left him dizzy.

They parted. The sound their mouths made caused Laurent to flush a deeper colour. Did Laurent do it the correct way? Was he supposed to move his mouth against Damen’s? Laurent tried to stay as still as possible so he did not make a mistake.  

A thumb brushed against Laurent’s cheekbone, distracting him from of his thoughts. Laurent opened his eyes. “You seem so deep in thought,” Damen whispered. “Did you not like it?”

“N-no!” Laurent sputtered. “Why would you think that?” It must have been horrible. He should have done some sort of research in the library. There was bound to be a resource somewhere that could have helped with his technique.

A quick kiss to Laurent’s forehead. “You’re so tense.”

“I – ” Laurent was beyond embarrassed. Damen must have had lovers before him. “I lack experience.”

“There’s not much to it,” Damen reassured. “Don’t think,” he added before capturing Laurent’s mouth a second time.

The rooftop felt absent underneath Laurent’s body. All his focus narrowed to the way Damen held him, as if Laurent was someone to be treasured, and the way their heads were angled so the kiss would deepen.

Desire stirred in Laurent, a wholly unaccustomed feeling, and he trembled at the intensity of it. Laurent hesitantly lifted his hands and touched Damen’s shoulder. The sound of delight that emerged from Damen caused Laurent to smile into the next kiss.

Laurent had lost count of how many kisses they exchanged before finally breaking apart. They breathed in tandem, foreheads pressed together. “Your cap is missing,” Damen murmured once their breathing returned to normal. At Laurent’s bemused expression, he ran his fingers through his blond hair. “It must have fallen during the chase.”

Out of all the things Damen could think of, it was of the hat. Laurent laughed. He felt as breathless as he did from leaping off a rooftop. But the thrumming in his veins did not come from the thrill of danger. It was from the knowledge that if Laurent fell – and slowly, surely he was – Damen would be there to catch him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are four more chapters left in this fic so we're nearing the end! It's crazy to think that I posted the first chapter _almost one year ago_. A special thank you to those who have followed this story from day one, I'm very grateful to have your support  <3


	10. Interlude: Letters and Laurels

If it were Damen’s decision, he would never leave the rooftop. He’d continue to kiss Laurent, slow and sweet, until daybreak. The only reason they would stop would be to watch the sun rise over the city, bodies close together. Laurent’s hair would shimmer under the early rays of morning light and his golden strands would take on a bronze-like quality. Damen would run his fingers through the locks, marveling at them while Laurent flushed at the attention. 

Then, when morning came, they would make their way back onto the streets. Laurent would guide them into a quaint patisserie hidden in between buildings. They would have breakfast with hands linked over the table. They would lose track of time, speaking of nothing and everything.

That was how it could have been, in another life.

Laughter and the clattering of metal somewhere below intruded Damen’s fantasy. Reality set in. They were not commoners, but princes of two powerful nations. It was still dark out. The glow of the night festival dimmed; it would end in a few hours.

Damen focused his attention on Laurent. He was staring out into the distance, a thoughtful yet undecipherable expression etched on his face. Damen wondered, not for the first time, what Laurent was thinking.

As if hearing Damen’s thoughts, Laurent turned to meet his eyes. “We should head back,” he said. “We’re supposed to be back at the palace before the festival ends.”

“I – “ There was a lot Damen wanted to say. _I wish we could stay. I never want us to leave. I want to hold onto this moment forever._

“Please think before you speak any further,” Laurent cut him off. “My will power is waning as it is and I refuse to listen to any form of persuasion. As much as I would like to remain here for longer, we –” His eyes widened at the admission. Despite having already held hands and exchanged kisses, Laurent was still _shy_.

“Go on,” said Damen. It was heartwarming to know Laurent did not want to see an end to this night as well.

“Stop my mouth,” said Laurent. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Damen was not one to deny such a request. He cupped Laurent’s cheek, still tinted a lovely pink colour, and tilted his head to bring their lips together. Laurent’s eyes fluttered shut, his long lashes brushing against Damen’s skin.

While Damen was a man who had kissed his fair share of people, Laurent radiated with inexperience. A deep primal part of Damen hoped that he was the first person to kiss Laurent like this. The thought of Laurent entrusting Damen to guide him through this act of pleasure was exhilarating. He wanted to see Laurent’s hesitancy turn into eagerness. He wanted those light, cautious touches to become more confident and firm, hands that would pull them closer and closer. Damen hoped he was worthy enough for Laurent to grant him the privilege to see it.

The kiss was unbelievably chaste. And to Damen’s amazement, the mere brush of lip caused Laurent to let out a stuttering breath before he leaned in for another, an unconscious striving. Damen was charmed by the way Laurent kissed. It was straightforward and genuine with an undertone of soft, delectable sweetness. He kissed as if it was a task he had been given and wanted to excel in. Damen let Laurent explore the simplest of sensations at his own pace. He pretended that they had all the time in the world.

 _One day_ , Damen thought. _They would._

When they parted, their lips lingered like the last parting notes of a serenade. Laurent’s breathing was shallow. He looked up, bright and doe-eyed, and Damen felt as if all the air in his lungs was stolen from him. 

Unable to help himself, Damen leaned over to press a quick kiss to Laurent’s small nose. It was odd, he thought, how he was able to battle gladiators and wrestles soldiers without visible effort. Yet, when in front of Laurent, a single blue-eyed look could bring Damen to his knees. It took all his strength to say, “Let’s head back.”

Laurent’s eyes flickered out, one last look at the view, before he nodded in agreement.

Damen got to his feet first. He offered a hand down to Laurent, who was still seated on the edge of the rooftop. He felt a surge of happiness as Laurent slotted his hands into his palm, letting himself be pulled up, and made no move to take away his hand.

“I think I saw a way down two buildings back,” said Laurent.

And with that, they descended the rooftop hand-in-hand and journeyed back to the palace.

 

* * *

 

There was some concern that, given Laurent had lost his hat, sneaking into the palace with an incomplete disguise would prove more difficult. They took narrow alleyways to avoid the densely populated streets in the city where Laurent would be easily recognizable.

They managed to leave the core of the city undetected. They entered the palace through a side gate, but Damen halted when a few soldiers and nobles trickled into the hallway they were in.

Damen’s first instinct was to push Laurent back against the wall into the shadows where they would be hidden. But then he watched the oncomers and realized they would have no real issue. Couples, friends and soldiers alike leaned on each other, gait staggering and uneven. In the distance, a noble made himself comfortable on the floor and stayed there. A minute later, gentle snoring could be heard from where they stood. Two princes in disguise were the last thing on anyone's mind.

“All’s clear,” Damen whispered. 

“I can see that,” said Laurent, humour in his eyes. “Though, I would much rather have another chase. This time around the palace. It would be a thrilling way to end the night, wouldn’t it?”

“I find anything we do thrilling,” said Damen. It was the truth. If all Laurent wanted to do was read in the library, Damen would be more than happy to join him. “Is there a pot nearby we can break? You can do the honours.”

To Damen’s delight, he was rewarded with a stifled laugh. Laurent took Damen’s hand, causing Damen’s heart to flutter -  it was the most forward act of affection Laurent had ever initiated - and pulled him through a different hallway.

Laurent navigated through the palace, towing Damen along. Damen was more than happy that Laurent was taking the lead so he could think of other things. Such as how nice Laurent’s hands were. They were soft hands, evidently well taken care of. His grip was strong and firm and Damen liked that. He also enjoyed the way Laurent’s hands were smaller than his. They fit together wonderfully. As if they were made to belong together.

Laurent stopped abruptly, causing Damen to almost trip. Damen was about to ask what happened, when he realized that they had reached the hallway that separated the East and West wing. This was where they had to go their separate ways. The two of them paused, the question of what would happen next was almost palpable in the air.

In the exact spot they were standing three days ago, Laurent had agreed to attend the Night Festival with Damen. It was where Damen had kissed Laurent’s cheek for the first time. It was the spot that currently held so much potential and would hopefully lead to the perfect conclusion of the best day of Damen’s life.

Damen knew that he still wanted to spend more time with Laurent. In truth, Damen always wanted to spend time with Laurent no matter. And so, he asked, “Shall I accompany you to your door?” It was the proper gesture a suitor would do, after all. 

He was amused at Laurent’s bewildered expression at Damen’s offer. The more time Damen spent with Laurent, the more it appeared that Laurent had never experienced common chivalry before. Damen hoped he could change that as he continued to show Laurent the charm of courting.

“If you insist,” came the calm reply. Damen saw the way the tip of Laurent’s ears pinked and had the sudden desire to kiss them.

“I only insist if that is what you want,” Damen countered, noting the way the colour spread to Laurent’s cheeks.

“It’s what I want.”

The walk to Laurent’s doorstep was much shorter than Damen liked, straight down the hallway and a turn left. The large wooden doors had complex metal detailing around the border with starbursts cleverly incorporated into the design. There was no denying that the room that lied behind those doors belonged to royalty.

But something felt…wrong.

“Thank you for bringing me to my bedchamber,” said Laurent.

“It was my pleasure,” said Damen, eyes flickering left and right. And then he realized what bothered him. “No guards?”

“Dismissed for the evening,” Laurent replied. “I told them that Jord would be at my side.”

This must have been part of Laurent’s plan. Guards were obligated to report to the King if Laurent left his room during the night. “Please do not take this as an insult to your capabilities,” said Damen. “But I cannot say I feel confident leaving you alone without a form of protection.”

“There are locks on the door and the windows are barred,” said Laurent. “I doubt anyone would be able to come in, unless they can tear out the grille with their bare hands.”

That ought to appease Damen. Laurent was smart enough to determine whether or not he was adequately secure. And yet, he was compelled to say, “I can stand guard in front of your door.”

Laurent arched an elegant gold eyebrow. “And how will you explain the situation to the guards that arrive come morning? The Prince of Akielos himself, standing in front of my door. The gossip would spread faster than an oil fire.”

It was not an outright objection. Damen smiled, he couldn’t help himself around Laurent. “I’m sure you’ll think of something clever.”

Laurent blushed and looked away. “I’m afraid my mind has not been functioning properly as of  late.” 

“Oh?” Damen’s smile widened.

Laurent looked at him, a wondrous deep blue gaze. “I haven’t been able to think the whole night.”

“I’m never able to think when I’m with you,” Damen confessed, heart swelling. “If this evening is truly coming to an end, I must admit I am unable to leave without one last embrace.”

Laurent reacted beautifully, rosy cheeks visible even in the sparse lighting.

Damen knew it came across as more forward than he had meant – never in his life would he demand something of Laurent. Afraid that he crossed some boundary, an apology was at the tip of his tongue when Laurent took a step forward, rising to his tiptoes. A kiss, gentle as a feather, was placed on Damen’s cheek. He barely registered it until Laurent took a step back, burning red. 

“Goodnight, Damen,” Laurent whispered. He slipped into his room and closed the door.

It was only when Damen felt the soft silk sheets underneath him did he realize he had returned to his own bedchamber. He lay on his bed, still in Veretian commoner clothing, and tried to recollect any memory after Laurent had given him a kiss. But he couldn’t. Compared to Laurent, a bright presence glowing like the flame of a candle in the dark, everything was a haze. The guards that opened the door for Damen most likely assumed he was drunk.

Although Damen had not consumed any alcohol, he felt drunk. His skin tingled where Laurent had touched him. His mind could not form a coherent thought except the word, _Laurent_ , repeating over and over again.Damen was smiling uncontrollably. He tried to stop for a moment and found that his smile grew even wider, cheeks hurting at the strain. An overwhelming feeling passed through Damen and he closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of himself.

Damen recalled his first few interactions with Laurent: at the ballroom, the contradiction between the confident way he held himself and his reserved, timid behaviour when talking to Damen; in the library, the cool responses Damen received warmed by the smiles they shared at the end of the chess match; at their picnic, Laurent’s ambivalence on whether or not to trust Damen evident.

But despite off of his seeming indecision and internal struggles, Laurent had accepted all of Damen's presents. He did not turn Damen and his courtship away. And after the Tournament, it was in the garden where Laurent allowed Damen to kiss his hand. Their first kiss.

With each passing day, Damen began to see a young man who was wholly unaccustomed to receiving such attentions. Laurent was like a rose - beauty and danger wrapped into one. While Laurent liked to rely on his thorns to keep people at a distance, Damen could only see the delicate softness underneath his outward defenses.

Damen sighed and stared at the ceiling, knowing full well he should change out of his Veretian clothes and prepare for bed. In a few minutes, Damen decided. He wasn’t ready to sleep yet, reluctant to let this evening go and welcome a new day.

Everything today had been perfect.

Laurent was perfect.

 

* * *

 

“You’re in a good mood,” said Nikandros, crossing his arms as he leaned back on his chair.  He was sitting across from Damen in one of the smaller libraries found in the palace.

Damen looked up from his paperwork. He was currently trying to finalize the lumber tariff proposal he would present in front of Prince Auguste and the Veretian Council.

Trying was the key word. He glanced down at his work and frowned when he saw that only three lines were written. Yes, he had been thinking about Laurent while working, but surely he had made more progress than this.

“I’m always in a good mood.” 

Nikandros scoffed. “Never in my life have I seen you _smiling_ about levies.”

Damen knew if he revealed what he had done and where he had gone last night, Nikandros would not hesitate to deliver a very long and stern talk about responsibilities and appropriate conduct during a peace treaty. All of which Damen would not pay attention to.

He decided to save Nikandros the effort. “I had the best dream last night.”

Nikandros squinted his eyes. “And does this dream involve a certain younger Prince of Vere named Laurent whom you have been following like a stray looking for scraps?” 

Damen smiled sheepishly. “Maybe.”

Nikandros sighed. “At least it appears the Prince of Vere returns your affections. Not all your efforts have gone to waste. Or should I say, _my_ efforts. As you may recall, I was the one that arranged for your custom made horse vase to be shipped from Ios to Arles in under a week. I'm fairly sure the headache I received from that ordeal is still throbbing.”

“I am forever in your debt, brother,” Damen reached from his seat to pat Nikandros on the forearm. “Thanks to your help, I feel as if there is real promise between us,” Damen smiled again. “Laurent is the most wonderful man I had ever laid my eyes on. He is far more lovely than I could ever imagine.” 

“I cannot fathom Laurent being as shy and gentle as you claim,” said Nikandros. “Were you aware that he asked me to help arrange your day trip to the orange orchard? He came up to me as if he was ready to negotiate a business deal. Quite demanding too, if I’m being completely honest.”

“The way he shows affection is subtle,” said Damen. “But once you start to notice the way he courts, it's impossible to ignore it.”

Damen remembered arriving at the top of the hill, a vista of greenery and orange trees before him. He remembered the way Laurent spoke in Akielon, hesitant but determined. His accent had an admirable lilt to it, softening the somewhat harsher vowels of Damen’s mother tongue and transforming it into something unique, almost exotic.

 _I requested fifty apricot trees to be planted near the Veretian-Akielon border but they simply would not grow fast enough._  

“Alright, alright,” Nikandros huffed. “Enough about the Prince. I am distracting you even further.”

“I promise to focus so as not to further your apparent never ending headache.” Damen laughed good-naturedly at the exasperated look his friend threw his way. They went back to work, but Nikandros had to remind Damen to concentrate much too often.

After hours of work fraught with a distracted Damen, a messenger appeared to deliver letters and reports.

Nikandros stood up to receive and sort through them. He stopped shuffling the letters and handed one of them to Damen. “You have a letter from Kastor under the King’s name.”

Damen got up from his seat. “Kastor? What for?” He took the letter from Nikandros and noted Kastor’s name written on the front along with King Theomedes’ seal, confirming the validity of the sender. He pried the wax off and unfolded the paper. 

It read:

 

_To the Crowned Prince Damianos of Akielos,_

_It is I, Kastor, writing to you in place of our father and King of Akielos, Theomedes. Fear not for his health, brother. He is on a hunting trip with the Kyros of Ios and will return in three days time. As for now, I am appointed as regent until his return._

_Upon reading your previous letter, I am pleased to hear that your negotiations have been fruitful. I questioned the King’s choice to send you as a representative – you and I both know you are easily persuaded in some circumstances – however I feel at ease to know all is well._

_This letter is to inform you of the happenings in the palace in your absence. For one, the subsidy provided to the grain and wheat farmers has been finalized and will be put into effect next week. Cloth taxes, particularly wool, are currently in debate but it is likely that they will be raised by two percent over the season. To respect our father’s wishes, I shall wait for his return before making executive decisions._  
  
_In regards to other matters, a ship from Kempt docked on our shores two days before I wrote this letter. The purpose of their trip is to open commerce between our two countries. There is one woman in particular, Lady Jokaste, who appears to be quite keen on having your audience. She is quite pleasing to the eye._

 _I ask that you be prompt in your response to this letter._  
  
_Kastor, Prince of Akielos_

 

“Is all well?” Nikandros asked when Damen put down the letter.

“Nothing has gone amiss,” said Damen. “I will respond immediately and ask for the messenger to leave in an hour to carry it back to Ios.”

“While you write, I will ask a servant to prepare some food and refreshments.” When Damen nodded, Nikandros exited the room.  
  
Damen took out a blank sheet of paper and dipped his pen into ink. He was not sure why Kastor felt the need to mention Lady Jokaste, someone who Damen had never heard of or seen before. Perhaps she was an important noble woman in Kempt who wished to see what Akielos had to offer. He knew many who traveled for weeks in order to have a glimpse of the Akielon attractions available.

No matter. She was not important.

He began to write: 

 

_To Prince Kastor of Akielos,_

_I thank you, brother, for taking responsibility of the palace and writing to notify me of the changes happening while I am still in Arles._

_An update on the accomplishments achieved from our meetings will be listed below._

_New trade routes for lumber and agricultural goods have been formalized and will be implemented next season. Vere has agreed to trade their steel in exchange for Akielon coal. Cloth and jewellery merchants from Akielos and Vere will be permitted to sell in all provinces in both nations, effective immediately._  
_  
The specifics of the official Akielon and Veretian Peace Treaty are still under discussion. There will be more details to come._

_In regard to Lady Jokaste, please allow her and any guests aboard the ship to reside in the palace until my return. I will leave you in charge and I trust any decision you make will be appropriate._

_Furthermore, I would like to request that you contact the keeper of the sacred olive gardens in Ios. I would like him to begin choosing a selection of laurels appropriate for a royal marriage. The larger the leaves the better._

_Crowned Prince Damianos of Akielos_

 

Gold laurels were not only a symbol of the royal family in Akielos, but they were also used for royal marriage ceremonies. Damen knew it was a bit too early to be picking out gold laurels for Laurent. He had not asked for Laurent’s hand yet. Laurent had not even accepted. Still, Damen couldn’t help but feel as if it was the right decision.

If Laurent were to marry Damen, he would live in the royal castle in Ios. Damen wondered if Laurent would enjoy Akielos. There were sweeping landscapes with hills and stretches of rich grass fields suitable for horse riding. He thought Laurent might appreciate the simplicity of Akielon architecture, so vastly different from Vere.

And there was the summer palace. Oh, how Damen longed to take Laurent to the summer palace. They would do whatever they wished there, a small sanctuary that relieved them of their royal duties. There was nothing more Damen wanted than to bask in the sun and listen to soft roar of the ocean waves with Laurent at his side. Had Laurent seen the ocean before? Would he enjoy the feeling of sand between his toes and chasing the waves that lapped onto shore? There were beautiful seashells and rocks near the cove. Damen would try to impress Laurent by finding a pearl to gift to him.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Damen stamped the letter with his royal seal, ready to hand it over to Nikandros to deliver to the messenger when he returned. In the meantime, Damen attempted to return to his work, but found it difficult given the visions of sun and sand and Laurent currently dancing through his head.

One thing was for certain. Damen could not wait for what the future had in store for him. For Laurent.

For their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last "Interlude" in this fic. The last three chapters will be in Laurent's POV :)
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience, I know this chapter took a while to get out. Also, I appreciate all the love and support for this fic. Your comments and kudos are very encouraging!! Hope it was worth the wait <3 <3 <3


	11. The Truth

Laurent leaned against the closed door, covering his mouth with one hand. He could still feel the warmth of Damen’s cheek on his lips. He still remembered the shocked look on Damen’s face when Laurent drew back.

 _I kissed him_ , a small, incredulous part of him thought. _I kissed him of my own volition._ In fact, they had kissed numerous times. They had also held hands and shared sweets and –

It was too much for Laurent to process. He couldn’t think. He didn’t want to think. There was an overwhelming pressure building inside Laurent’s chest, foreign yet brilliant with warmth. Everything felt surreal as if Laurent was in a dream. He pinched his arm to confirm that he was, indeed, conscious.

Alone and away from prying eyes, Laurent let his resolve weaken. He grinned unabashedly, something he had not done in a very long time. The only other time Laurent was in a state of such unadulterated happiness was when he had received Éloise as a gift from Auguste.

Tonight had exceeded all of Laurent’s expectations. Damen had exceeded all of Laurent’s expectations. Everything was... perfect. There was some hesitation using that word – Laurent had never found a situation that befitted its meaning – however nothing felt more right.

Laurent had always assumed that a first kiss was meaningless. Auguste told him he barely remembered it; he was inebriated at some sort of festivity. He told Laurent he even forgot who he kissed. With only Auguste’s experience and a copious amount of dramatic romantic novels that, in Laurent’s opinion, did not seem to mirror reality, it was nothing to look forward to.

Underneath the starlight and the weight of Damen’s eyes, Laurent had never anticipated something more. He liked the way Damen brushed his hair back and cupped his cheek. The gentle touches helped calm Laurent’s nervousness, an anchor of reassurance in the midst of unknown waters.  He liked the way Damen kissed; it was focused, as if all of Damen’s attention was on him, confident with experience but still sweet with a softness that made Laurent’s toes curl. Perhaps, with Damen, Laurent could see the appeal in kissing after all.

Laurent could not deny that, in the exchange of soft kisses and the proximity of their warm bodies, he had thought of it. Of the possibility of going further. It was a form of intimacy Laurent had no interest in whatsoever until now. It was disorienting and confusing. Laurent knew he would spend many nights pondering over this, attempting to dissect and organize his emotions.

Never in Laurent’s life had he believed he would feel this way about anything, much less about another human being. Damen put Laurent at ease. Damen made Laurent feel safe, as ridiculous as that sounded. Even when they ventured outside Laurent’s comfort zone, Damen was there, guiding and encouraging, never pushing Laurent too far. Everything with Damen was a request, not a demand. It made all the difference.

Laurent had not known that courting could be so pleasant.

Laurent pushed off the door, pulling at the laces at the base of his neck to undress. While the commoner clothes Charls had provided were comfortable, Laurent preferred to wear his own. He had also scheduled to go riding with Jord at dawn and needed to rest. Thinking about Damen was more than counterproductive.

After Laurent had slipped on his white oversized bed shirt, he retrieved the small bag that contained his new riding gloves. Laurent held the gloves, appreciating the smooth and soft leather material. He pulled them close to his chest and smiled. He would wear them tomorrow morning.

Laurent folded his commoner clothes into a neat stack and turned them over in his hands. He considered what he should do with them. He had originally planned to dispose of them in the fire, but it seemed like a waste to do so. Laurent did not like the idea of burning away remnants of one of the most memorable moments of his life. He stowed it away in the chest. He never knew when he would need another disguise.  
  
Climbing under the covers of his bed sheets, Laurent laid his head on one of the numerous pillows arranged along the wooden headboard. He stared at the tiled ceiling. It would be wise to sleep. He needed rest after their night long escapade. Yet, he was wide awake, every nerve in his body alight.

Laurent buried his face into the pillows – tonight was a night of indulgence – and grinned one more time. Just once more.

The last thing Laurent remembered was reaching underneath his pillow, finding comfort in holding the leather gloves as he found his way to sleep. He dreamt of starry skies, warm smiles, and the promise of an ocean view.

 

* * *

 

The days that followed the Night Festival were uneventful. Laurent spent his time completing menial tasks Father had appointed such as copying letters and transcripts for documentation. When he was not working, he would either be in the library, learning Akielon and its culture, or in the stables, taking care of Éloise. Laurent had no objections to solitude – he preferred it most of the time – but he wished, somewhat foolishly, to have the company of one specific individual.

The Akielon visitation was nearing its end. And with that came lengthy meetings where agreements, contracts and forms would be finalized. Auguste and Damen were both required to attend every meeting, leaving Laurent with little to no enjoyable company. Whilst that typically meant Laurent would spend time with Nicaise, he had not made an appearance after their chase in the alleyways. Laurent wasn’t worried. Nicaise would never leave the city without giving him notice.

It wasn’t as if Laurent had not seen Damen at all. They’d snatched moments together like illicit lovers – at sunrise in the stables before Laurent went horseback riding, at dusk in the library hidden between bookshelves, and in the gardens, shielded by trees and decorative plant life. It was nice, Laurent thought, knowing that someone was willing to spend time with him and made the effort to do so, especially when time was becoming scarce.

Laurent knew that there was an end date to Damen’s stay in Arles. Damen would ride to Marches where the Akielon vessels were docked, and sail back to Ios where he would resume his royal duties. It was simply fact.

Laurent had had plans. He would spend his life studying military strategy, the customs and languages of the nations surrounding Vere, and absorbing as much knowledge as he could. When Auguste ascended the throne, Laurent would assume the position of the King’s First Advisor. Laurent would deal with the Council and ensure that Auguste was safe and had the best counsel. It would be Laurent’s duty to make Auguste the best King in Vere’s illustrious history.

Laurent had never planned to take an interest in anyone. The first time Laurent had heard that Akielon ambassadors would visit the palace, he thought nothing of it. Many delegates had come and gone through the Veretian court. That was, of course, before Laurent had met Damen. Before Damen started to court him.

There was no doubt in Laurent’s mind that his priority would always be Auguste. But now, with Damen and a whole realm of possibility Laurent had never considered, there was a conflict of opposing wants. Laurent wondered if it was possible to have both.

“ – have not touched your plate,” said Auguste. “Is there anything wrong? Are you still feeling unwell? I can call for Paschal.”

If Laurent had not been used to concealing his expressions, he would have jolted in his seat. A quick glance around the dining hall, the dozens of servants carrying plates, and the untouched meal in front of Laurent had him realize that he had buried himself in his thoughts and lost track of time.

“It’s nothing of import,” Laurent reassured. He took a sip of water from his goblet to avoid looking in Auguste’s direction. “I was only thinking about a book I read last night. The plot was riveting.”

The corner of Auguste’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “You and your books,” he said with fondness. “After the final banquet in four weeks, you can do all the reading you like.”

Four weeks. Laurent lost his appetite.

“I suppose,” said Laurent.

 

* * *

 

Laurent sat cross-legged atop an elegantly carved stone bench tucked away between bushes of white flowers. He brought a book with him, an adventure novel about a man lost at sea, but it lay untouched. Instead, Laurent’s hands held a bouquet of flowers found in Éloise’s stall early this morning. There had been a note attached to it:

_Laurent,_

_No flower could ever compare to your all encompassing beauty. Grant me your time and company at high noon._

_Damen_

There was no question of the location Damen would like them to meet. The white flowers were enough of an indication. Laurent liked how Damen remembered the places and things that were important to him and did not mock him for having such attachments. This small, secluded section of the garden was growing with more significance with every passing day. It was where Laurent had first considered Damen to be more than one of the countless suitors that had approached him.

Laurent had arrived earlier than necessary. He reasoned that this was because he valued punctuality and _not_ because he was eager to see Damen.

A rustling of leaves and the proceeding footsteps had Laurent on his feet. The sight of dark curls, and the glimpse of a red cape were enough of a sign of who it was. Damen appeared behind the shrubbery and skid to a stop at the sight of Laurent. They gazed at each other.

“You came,” said Laurent.

Covering the space between them in four great strides, Damen rushed up to Laurent and cupped his face with both hands, tilting his head up. “You knew I would.”

Damen leaned in, pausing just shy of their lips touching, waiting for Laurent’s small nod of consent before delivering a slow and deliberate kiss. The heat of it radiated through Laurent’s body. Laurent figured that if he were any warmer, he would begin to melt.

The first kiss became a second, and then a third. It was odd, Laurent thought as Damen’s palm slid over Laurent’s nape, fingers brushing the ends of his fine blond hair and sending shivers down his spine, how one person could alter his perspective on kissing so drastically.

When they parted, Damen wrapped Laurent in an embrace. Laurent tucked his head into Damen’s chest, enjoying the feeling of strong, sturdy arms around him. In a moment of honesty, Laurent murmured, “I miss you. It’s only been two days and I already miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” Damen drew back just enough so he could crane his head down to pepper small kisses over Laurent’s face, covering his cheeks, eyelids, and nose. “So much.”

Laurent laughed, half-heartedly pushing him away. It only made Damen hold him tighter. “ _Damen_.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Laurent. Words left his mouth carelessly. These were thoughts Laurent would never imagine him thinking, much less saying out loud. He felt relaxed and light. He wondered, bemusedly, if this was what it was like to be drunk.

“I as well,” said Damen. “However, I can’t stay long. I told Nikandros I forgot a document in my bedchamber so I could see you. If I am gone too long, he will start searching for me.”

“That’s fine.  You’re here now.”

“I am,” Damen reeled him in for another kiss, one that was so sweet Laurent wanted it to last forever.

They settled themselves on the bench. There was idle talk about the book Laurent brought and of the other readings he had done lately. Damen listened earnestly, keen to understand and learn about Laurent’s interests. Laurent promised to lend Damen his favourite book so they could read it together one day.

Conversation ebbed and flowed. Laurent lost track of how many topics they had touched in such a short amount of time. It was easy to talk to Damen. It was nice. Simple.

They were comparing the size of their hands when Damen spoke. “The banquet is coming soon.” 

“If you thought the other celebrations in Vere were excessively lavish and grandiose, wait until you see the scale of this one.” A pause. Then, “Best for last, as they say.”

“Right,” said Damen, a slight frown on his face. “Last one because I’m -”

“Leaving,” Laurent finished.

Laurent had done more than his share of thinking about what would happen to them. Would it work, if they courted long distance? Would they send each other letters? Would they send a messenger to and fro their nations to deliver gifts and tokens?

“Let’s not think of that yet,” said Damen, bringing Laurent’s hand up to kiss his palm. “I want us to enjoy the time we have together. I brought up the banquet because I’d like to ask you for a dance. We spoke of it briefly, at the Night Festival.”

It was customary to dance with delegates, especially being a young prince that had just come of age. Laurent knew the steps and movements well – memorized through the constant drilling and repetition from his instructors – but found nothing enjoyable about swaying with a stranger and having them touch him. He tolerated it; it was his duty. The thought of dancing with Damen, however, presented Laurent with a completely different reaction. He wanted it. “Are you a good dancer, Damianos?”

“I’m adequate,” Damen gave Laurent a look that had him laughing.

“We will be dancing in front of everyone,” said Laurent. King Aleron, Auguste, the Council, the court. The idea had a thrilling appeal to it. “They will know.”

“I’m sure half the palace knows already,” Damen said lightly, his eyes dancing.

Laurent smiled and looked away. He could feel a blush creeping across his cheeks. “And here I thought I was the soul of discretion.”

“Would you like me to court you in private?” Damen asked. “There are only speculations as of late. If it would make you more comfortable, we can keep our meeting inconspicuous.”

“No. None of that,” said Laurent. He absentmindedly fiddled with the laces on his sleeve. What Laurent felt for Damen was nothing Laurent was ashamed of. “Courting is still a novelty,” Laurent pushed through the embarrassment. “I am unsure of the etiquette, such as whether it requires an announcement or if it is necessary for you to see an audience with the King of Vere. While I loathe the idea of needing to seek the approval of others, I’m not sure if protocol demands the whole court of Vere be made aware or just my family or perhaps the Council...” Laurent trailed off. He talked too much.

Damen touched Laurent’s cheek, pulling Laurent’s attention back to him. The corner of Damen’s dark brown eyes crinkled, nothing but kindness and honesty seen in them. “If I had the opportunity, I would tell every single person in Vere and Akielos how much I adore you. It is my honour and privilege to be in your company. To share the same air you breath. To bestow a kiss onto you and to know it is what you desire. To –”

“All prattle,” said Laurent.

“I cannot help but become a loquacious man when the subject matter is you,” said Damen. “Nikandros knows this far too well.”

Laurent huffed in amusement. “Nikandros doesn’t appear to be an enthusiast.” 

“He believes I am skirting my duties.” At Laurent’s raised eyebrow, Damen conceded. His tone was almost petulant. “Today’s meeting isn’t really important anyway.”

“If we are to continue with _this_ ,” said Laurent. “I would like to remain civil with Nikandros. I’m sure he is wondering where you are by now.”

Damen smiled. “I am not the most organized individual. There are many papers on my desk. It takes me a long time to sort through them all. I like to be thorough.”

Laurent returned the smile. “A shame.”  

Damen rose from the bench, still holding onto Laurent’s hand. Laurent knew Damen had to go back to his meeting. It was reckless of Laurent to keep Damen back from his responsibilities. “I will make time to see you tomorrow evening. The library?”

“I’ll be there,” said Laurent. “Second shelf to the right. Like usual.”

The sight of Damen walking away always left a twinge in Laurent’s heart. Laurent thought back to their first real conversation in the library. He thought of their bet, Laurent’s victory, and Damen’s disappointment.

Just before Damen left Laurent’s view, he said, “Wait.”

Damen paused mid-stride and turned around. Laurent felt the very same twist in his stomach as he had that day. But Laurent now knew what it was. He knew what this feeling meant. “Yes?”

Laurent plucked a white flower from the bouquet, his heart racing in response to what he was about to do. He approached, noting the way Damen’s eyes widened, his smile morphing into a wide grin. Once Laurent stood in front of Damen, he lifted his hand to tuck the flower into Damen’s curled hair. It was only appropriate, after all the flowers Damen had given him, to return the favour. This was how courting worked, was it not?

Just as Laurent withdrew his hand, Damen caught it. He brought Laurent’s hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle with palpable reverence. “You are not making it any easier to go.”

“Nothing about me is easy,” said Laurent.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Damen stayed longer than he meant to. And when Damen finally left – running to get back into the palace – Laurent wished he could see Nikandros’ reaction when Damen returned to the meeting with a white flower decorating his hair. Laurent smirked. He wanted to be civil with Nikandros, but that man was fun to provoke.

 

* * *

 

On the rare occasion when Auguste had nothing scheduled for the morning, the two Veretian princes spent their time in the library. It felt like years since their last match. Laurent stared at the chessboard. Who would have thought that a little game of chess would be the catalyst that undermined all of Laurent’s prior thoughts on courting.

“A copper sol for your thoughts?” Auguste moved his rook two squares forward to protect his queen. A rather useless move in Laurent’s opinion. Auguste had not noticed that Laurent had trapped both the queen and king into a corner.

“My thoughts are worth at least two copper sols.” Laurent knew he should feel a sense of guilt at paying half-hearted attention to this game. He should be appreciating the time he had with Auguste.

“How impertinent would it be if I bet three copper sols that you are thinking of the Crowned Prince of Akielos?”

Laurent did not skip a beat. “You are always impertinent.”

“ _Laurent_.” It was far too whiny and pleading to befit a Crowned Prince.

“What is the point of telling when you already know?”

Auguste placed a hand on Laurent’s forearm, a grounding touch. “I am your older brother, Laurent,” he said. “You can tell me anything.”

And he was not wrong. Auguste had always been Laurent’s confidante.

When Laurent was a child, he sought refuge in Auguste’s room during thunderstorms. Under the blanket fort they made, Auguste vowed to always protect Laurent when he was scared. During the beginning stages of Laurent’s growth spurt, he was both panicked and embarassed when his voice broke. Auguste reassured him that such developments were normal.  
  
Now, as Laurent grew into adulthood, Auguste liked hearing about Laurent’s troubles at practice or in his studies. Auguste gave Laurent sage advice and encouraged him to speak his mind. Without a doubt, Laurent could trust his brother.

A deep breath. “Damen and I are courting.” 

The small patient smile Auguste wore transformed into a smug look. It did not surprise him at all. In fact, it was as if Auguste expected it. “You’ve known all along,” said Laurent. A statement, not a question.

“I am not blind, little brother,” said Auguste. “I see the way you look at him. I see the way he looks at _you_.”

“How do I look at him?” The chess match was long forgotten.

“Like he hung the moon.”

Laurent flushed, somewhat regretting having this conversation with his brother.

“If it helps,” said Auguste, all too cheerful. “He is the same.” Laurent flushed at least three shades darker. Auguste continued, “I know you prefer to be private with your emotions. It’s in your nature and I promise I will not pry too far. It is my duty, however, to ensure that he treats you well. Does he make you happy, Laurent?” Auguste kept his tone light, but Laurent could hear the seriousness in it.

“Damen makes me happy,” Laurent made eye contact with Auguste.

Auguste nodded. “From what I’ve seen, he is a good man. He treats you well?”

“He treats me well,” Laurent affirmed. “I...am fond of him.”

Auguste grinned. “Besotted? Smitten?”

“Good grief,” Laurent rolled his eyes, part in exasperation and part to conceal the budding pink tint that was, yet again, colouring his cheeks.

There was a sudden gleam in Auguste’s eyes. “Perhaps this is the appropriate time for me to explain the uses of oils.” 

The room was silent.

And then Laurent understood. “ _Auguste_ ,” he all but spluttered. 

Auguste forged on, “Of course, consummation will only occur after marriage but I find it important to understand the mechanics of -”

“I am going to the stables,” Laurent declared, loud enough to drown out Auguste’s voice. “I need some fresh air.”

Laurent burst through the library doors and strode with determination to get away. While Laurent appreciated Auguste’s intentions, appreciation was as far as he would go. He heard Auguste’s roaring laughter in his wake.

 

* * *

 

Laurent found himself situated in the gardens for the second time in as many days. It was quickly becoming his favourite spot in the entire kingdom. He was having afternoon tea along with snacking on some orange slices while he waited for Damen’s arrival. He was late, however Laurent paid no mind. He was most likely finding an excuse to find his way here.

Laurent had received a note last night. Damen had another gift for him – something special, he claimed – and wanted to deliver it in person.

Time passed like clouds on a windless day. In Laurent’s haste to arrive at their rendezvous, he had forgotten to bring along a book to entertain him. Laurent could very well ask a servant to retrieve it but Damen would come soon enough. Patience. 

Just as Laurent finished his cup of tea, he heard the sound of crunching leaves somewhere behind him. He turned, a teasing insult for Damen’s tardiness at the tip of his tongue. The shape of Laurent’s mouth became quizzical when he heard the jingling bells amidst the footsteps. There was only one person Laurent knew that wore such jewellery.

Nicaise hunched over, panting, with his hands on his knees. In one hand, held a gold fork.

“Where’s the fire?” Laurent asked. 

Laurent was met with fiery sapphire eyes. “Tell me I can kill him,” Nicaise spat between heavy breaths, hatred colouring his words like dark acrid smoke from a fire. “Because no matter what you say, I’m still stabbing him.”

“You’re not stabbing anybody,” said Laurent, concerned at the outburst. “Who vexed you this time?” There was a long list of people that Nicaise detested. The first being the stable boy who wouldn’t allow Nicaise to borrow a horse to show his father, and the most recent being Volo.

Nicaise eyed him with disbelief. “You haven’t heard? It’s all the talk in the city. I came here the moment I knew it was real.”

Something was wrong. 

“Tell me,” said Laurent.

“Damianos is to marry Lady Jokaste of Kempt.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a little mean to leave you with that last line. Sorry not sorry! 
> 
> Thank you all for your support and love for this fic! Kudos and comments are _greatly_ appreciated  <3 I honestly cherish each and every one of them :)


	12. The Banquet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, your eyes are not deceiving you. I finally updated.
> 
> Please enjoy :)

Laurent felt the floor fall out from beneath him.

_Damianos is to marry Lady Jokaste of Kempt._

He was spiralling at a dangerous speed, disoriented and in disbelief. While it was not a common sensation for Laurent, it was familiar.

The first time Laurent fell off a horse was at the age of eight.

It hadn’t taken long for King Aleron to discover Éloise. In hindsight, Laurent and Auguste should have been more discreet about their shared secret. Having _both_ princes of Vere disappear at the same time every single day was not the best way to achieve covertness after all. Under Auguste’s insistence, Father agreed to start Laurent on equestrian lessons with an instructor three times a week. Laurent should have been to be satisfied – he had gotten what he wanted – but his skill set was progressing far too slow for his liking. Laurent wanted to learn how to _gallop_. It was the fastest gait and Laurent itched to feel the gush of wind in his face. He wanted to race over the grassland with no care in the world.  

Laurent couldn’t ask Father for more lessons. No, not unless he wanted a lecture on discipline and patience. There was someone better he could turn to…  

“Galloping is nothing you can’t handle,” Auguste had reassured him. They were riding side by side in the meadow north of the palace, three of the Prince’s Guard trailing at a respectful distance behind them. Auguste rode his trusted white stallion while Laurent used a grey pony from the stables – Éloise was not trained enough to ride in the open yet.

“Can you teach me?” Laurent had asked. “They say I’m too inexperienced but I just want to be as good as you are.”

“Well…” Their ride today was supposed to be one of leisure. Auguste, however, struggled to deny Laurent anything. Laurent knew this of course, and used it to his full advantage.

“You promised to help me whenever I want it,” Laurent added, seeing a small crack in his older brother’s resolve. It would crumble any minute. “Can you help me now?”

“Alright,” Auguste acquiesced. “I suppose there is no harm in getting ahead.”

Horse and pony were brought to a halt as Auguste gave instructions. Laurent could barely hold still in his saddle from excitement. “Shorten your reins a little. Yes, that’s correct. Use your heel to squeeze its sides once. Make sure to lean forward, keep yourself slightly raised and – ”

Laurent couldn’t hear the end of Auguste’s sentence.  A rush of adrenaline coursed through his body as Laurent shot forward like an untamed arrow released from a bow. The only sounds in his ears were the howling wind and the steady fall of hooves below. Laurent pressed his heels against the pony to spur her on, faster and faster.

His first mistake.

Laurent clutched onto the reins as the terrain grew uneven. His balance shifted precariously to the left before he managed to find his centre of gravity. Laurent needed to slow down. He pulled the reins but the pony huffed and shook her head. She galloped even faster and in that moment, Laurent knew he had lost control. He yanked on the reins again, harder this time, panic crawling its way down his throat.

The pony bucked in retaliation and threw Laurent off the saddle. Laurent’s arms flailed in an aborted attempt to hold onto something – _anything_ , where were his reins? Where was Auguste? – but all his fingertips could grasp was air. It was only when Laurent’s feet slid out of the stirrups did he realize he was falling headfirst to the ground.

Time slowed, effortless and cruel. Laurent wanted to close his eyes before he hit the ground; it would hurt less if he couldn’t see what was coming. His eyes decided to stay wide open. There was nothing he could do but brace for impact. It was inevitable. He was helpless.

_Damianos is to marry Lady Jokaste of Kempt._

This felt like a different kind of falling – the kind where Laurent wouldn’t survive unscathed.

“You’re mistaken,” Laurent heard himself say into the terrible silence. “That can’t be true.”

Laurent knew Damen. Despite only having spent a scant few weeks in each other’s company, there was enough evidence in their interactions that Damen would not– _could not_ –

He knew him. Damen was many things but he wasn’t a liar.

“I have proof.” Nicaise rummaged through one of his pockets. “I broke into his bedchamber after hearing the rumours and found this letter on his desk. It has the Akielon royal seal on it.”

Laurent did not move to take the letter from Nicaise’s outstretched hand. “If caught, you would have been imprisoned. Perhaps taken to the Akielon court for trial. Even I wouldn’t have the power to get you out.”

This was stalling. Both Laurent and Nicaise recognized it.

“Good thing I wasn’t caught then.”

Laurent willed his hands not to shake as he unfolded the ivory parchment. He could hear his heartbeat thumping in his ear, rising in intensity with each second that past. Whatever lied in this letter was the truth – someone Laurent valued, but in this moment, was wary to face. It didn’t sit well with him.

It read:

_To the Crowned Prince Damianos of Akielos,_

_Lady Jokaste of Kempt is honoured to accept your marriage proposal. Your order of gold laurels for the ceremony has been placed and they will be ready upon your return to Ios. I am in the process of discussing and settling the dowry along with other specifics in your honour. The ceremony…_

There was more to the letter, but Laurent did not continue. He read enough. He didn’t think he could handle another sentence. 

“Can I stab him now?” Nicaise asked. His hands were clasped behind his back, innocuous as if he was asking for another platter of desserts at suppertime.

“No,” Laurent replied while refolding the letter. He slipped it into his jacket and out of sight. The paper weighed him down like stone. “I might do it myself.”

Nicaise placed his fork onto the table. “Now is your chance. Here he comes.”

Laurent’s heart almost stuttered to a halt. He had forgotten his purpose for being here. Usually not one to avoid conflict, Laurent was taken aback by his desire to flee the gardens and seek refuge in his bedchamber. He wanted to rip the letter into shreds and throw it into the fire. He wanted to forget everything and pretend like nothing had ever happened.

Denial, however, did not suit Laurent. He steeled himself, as one would before a duel, and turned to face Damen. “Hello, lover.”

Damen’s smile waned a fraction. “Good afternoon, Laurent.” He turned to Nicaise, recognition lighting his eyes. “You’re from the Night Festival,” he said and bent down to offer a hand. “I see you’ve made it back safely. I’m delighted to finally meet you.”

Nicaise scowled. “As if I’d shake hands with an ill-bred mongrel like yourself.”

On another occasion, Laurent would have found Damen’s expression of incredulity amusing. He had evidently never been addressed in such a fashion in his life. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. Go fuck off back to your cave.”

Laurent considered allowing Nicaise to continue his invective, but this was not Nicaise’s battle to fight. “Thank you for your assistance,” Laurent cut in coolly. “But I can handle it from here.”

“Fine.” Nicaise turned to Damen and snarled, “I hope you choke on a rock,” before he stomped away and out of sight.

“Is he alright?” Damen asked when the sound of jingling bells faded away. “He seemed rather crossed.”

The comment did not merit a response. Laurent settled for staring at Damen, taking in the concern etched in his brow and the slight downturn of his mouth. Even frowning, the dimple was present. Laurent thought of Damen’s kind smiles and sweet words. He wondered how this man in front of him could have slipped under all of Laurent’s defenses.

Having never seen Damen in battle, Laurent had forgotten _who_ Damen was. A commander. A strategist.  For all Damen’s insistence on honour, it appeared he was not beneath befriending the enemy, earning their trust, and then slitting their throat. The truth was in front of Laurent the whole time. He let himself be blinded by a few flowers and a collection of literature.

“Laurent?”  
  
“It’s interesting,” said Laurent. He could almost taste copper in his mouth. “This whole time I thought you were a purebred Akielon. Where has your honour and chivalry gone? You ought to check your lineage – it appears that some Veretian tendencies for deception and sabotage have managed to taint you.” 

Damen took a step forward.

Laurent took a step back.

“I don’t understand.”                      

“No. You don’t have to.”

Damen reached out a hand towards Laurent. “Whatever it is, we – ”

“Don’t touch me.”

Damen recoiled as if burned by fire. Hurt and confusion coloured his eyes. It only added fuel to Laurent’s ire. How dare Damen act like the one stabbed when _he_ was the one that wield the sword?

“Please. Explain what’s wrong.”

Laurent’s hands were rigid on the edge of the table. “What was wrong was letting you speak to me that first day. It was being fooled by the illusion of the man who courted me. Who treated me with respect. Who never lied to me.” 

“I never lied to you. I would never. Laurent –”

He couldn’t listen to another word. “Begone. The sight of you sickens me.” 

Laurent was distantly aware of returning to the palace and of his orders to the guards – _I am to be left alone._ _Let no one in._ He went through the motions to prepare for bed, all but ripping open his tight laced doublet in exchange for a loose white bed shirt in a fumble of lace and cloth.

He woke to the sound of a knock on the door. There were only two people who could countermand Laurent’s word.

“I am not accepting visitors.” His voice was raspy from disuse. He didn’t know the time of day.

The door opened regardless. “Surely a brother can be an exception.”

Auguste entered, a plate of food in his hands. “Oh, Laurent.” Auguste set the plate on the desk. “Laurent,” he repeated and approached the bed. “What happened?”

Laurent would laugh if a sob was not lodged in the back of throat, threatening to make its appearance. The last thing he wanted to do was cry like a _child_ in front of his older brother. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Has something happened to Éloise?” August spoke softly, as he would to a frightened foal. A hand brushed over Laurent’s hair, untangling the unkempt strands. Laurent shook his head. Auguste paused, and then tried once more. “Have you lost something important?”

Laurent did not expect the words to cut through him like they did. Something ripped its way out of Laurent’s chest - bloody, raw, and painful.

Never again. 

“Leave me be, Auguste.”

“I’m certain that whatever happened can be resolved.”

_This can’t be fixed_ , Laurent thought, bitterness overwhelming his senses. “I don’t wish to hear this. Enough. Leave me alone, or have you suddenly lost your hearing?”

Auguste’s hand stilled a fraction of a second before resuming careful strokes over Laurent’s unkempt blond strands. It would have gone unnoticed if Laurent were not so attuned to his older brother. The weight of Laurent’s words sunk in as guilt settled heavy at the pit of his stomach. 

“Very well” said Auguste, resignation clear as a bell. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Laurent’s head. “I understand you’re upset. Rest. We can talk some other time.”

The lack of reprimand all but reinforced the shame bubbling to the surface. Laurent almost wished for Auguste to yell at him, but raising his voice was never part of his repertoire

Before Auguste could move out of reach, Laurent held him back and squeezed his hand. Laurent couldn’t muster the right words but Auguste recognized it for the apology it was. “Sweet dreams, little brother,” he said.

But there would be nothing sweet about Laurent’s dreams.

 

* * *

 

The days that led to the banquet to mark the end of the Akielon visitation and subsequent new alliance passed as a blur. Laurent stayed in his room, leaving only to go on his morning rides with Jord and whenever Auguste managed to convince him to dine in the hall. _To avert any gossip_ , August reasoned. _I know how much you dislike it. The last thing you need is for the court to think their darling young prince is a recluse!_ Laurent heard no word from his Father, but the familiar indifference was somehow a comfort.

Damen, on the other hand, Laurent had heard much from.

The first time Laurent had heard a commotion outside his bedroom, he frowned. It was almost unprecedented for anyone to create such a fuss in the private quarters of the palace. Unless, of course, they were assailants. Assassination was always a possibility.

Laurent withdrew his sword from behind the dark mahogany bookshelf. He crept near the doors to gain a better perspective of the situation, sword raised and at the ready.

“His Highness ordered no visitors. As I have said before, there is – ” 

“I need a minute. Please. Let me speak with him.”

Laurent startled, his grip on the weapon loosening without notice until the sharp metallic clatter brought all conversation to a halt.

Laurent’s stomach dropped, his heart leaping out of his chest as he scrambled to pick up his weapon – wanting it for this new battle he was not ready to face – but it was too late. The damage was done.

“He’s there, isn’t he?” A shift in tone. “Prince Laurent, if you’re listening I–”

Laurent retreated, sword forgotten, and all but ran to the washstand in the connecting antechamber. The splash of cold water on his face was a shock. So it wasn’t a dream.

The next day, Laurent heard Damen’s voice filter through his door, asking for the same thing. _Just one word in private,_ he pleaded. _I ask no more than one word._ Laurent ignored it. But then he came the next day. And the next, and the next. It confounded Laurent to no end. Did Damen wish to gloat about his new engagement? Provide an insincere apology for his infidelity? Laurent would not give him that opportunity.

It took some insistence, but Laurent convinced the guards to not report Damen’s visitations to Auguste. He was overworked, arranging everything, and filling in the roles that their Father slacked in. Laurent knew how much Auguste fretted over his well being and didn’t wish to add another burden over his shoulders.

A week later, the visits began to dwindle. Damen seemed to give up. _Good_ , Laurent thought.  _You’re better off without him – without another_ distraction _in your life._

“Your Highness,” said Jord, interrupting Laurent’s brooding. It was the first time Jord had initiated conversation in the past week. “It’s not my place to ask – ”

“It’s not,” said Laurent. He loosened the straps around Éloise and put back his saddle on the shelf with more force than necessary. His underclothes were soaked with sweat from the hard ride and he wanted to bathe. Laurent already knew what this would be about. It was not hard to notice Laurent’s changed composure to the few who interacted with him. 

Jord continued to loiter outside Éloise’s stable, unwilling to leave without saying another word. His hand gripped the hilt the sword attached to his waist. “D-did _he_ harm you in anyway? Did… he force himself upon you?”

“No,” said Laurent, startled at such an accusation. Damen would never – Laurent shoved the thought away. Why was he defending him? “No. I appreciate the gesture, but this is not your place. I will handle things accordingly.”

A bow. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Laurent let out a slow breath once he was alone. He couldn’t rationalize why the mere thought of Damen had his heart was pounding, why there was a strange and unpleasant pressure pushing against his ribcage demanding to be released.

Damen shouldn’t mean anything to Laurent, not anymore. It was pointless to dwell on the idea that this could be salvageable. Damen was a traitor. He was a liar. An ex-lover.

Traitor. Liar. Ex-lover.

Laurent would repeat the mantra in his head until it stayed.

 

* * *

 

Laurent, Auguste, and King Aleron stood outside the double doors leading to the banquet hall. Servants flitted around them, adjusting collars and retying lace. Laurent couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to what they were doing. He focused on other things, such as the various possible ways of excusing himself without being rebuked by Father and without the immense scrutiny from the court. Laurent’s musing served no real purpose – his attendance mandatory. The repercussions of his absence were more trouble than it was worth.

A pair of eyes bore into Laurent’s back. He knew exactly who those eyes belonged to, knew the weight of them without needing to look.

So what, if Damen was also at the banquet? Laurent refused to let one man ruin an event of grandiose splendor. He was determined to find enjoyment in the dainty hors d’œuvres and repetitive small talk. He might even find a suitor to his liking and have _them_ mutter sweet words in his ear while they take a promenade in the garden. 

Laurent’s gut churned in disapproval.

“If it’s not too forward of me, ” Auguste murmured under his breath, “I assumed that you’d be by Damen’s side.” 

Auguste never pried into why Laurent was upset that night, accepting Laurent’s wish for privacy. Gratitude for his acceptance of Laurent’s privacy and annoyance at the mention of Damen mixed together as Laurent struggled to harness his emotions.

“That would violate protocol,” said Laurent.

“Technicalities,” Auguste waved off. “It’s the one rule everyone has broken. No one would bat an eye, not even Father.” Then, “Have you spoken to him after you were upset? He could help you, if you let him.”

“By all means, speak to Damen if you’d like. Do not project onto me.”

Auguste had the good grace to laugh.  

A quiet hush descended around them as a herald began calling out the names and titles of the royal Veretian family. The servants skittered out of the way. Auguste and Laurent moved into position behind Father. A fanfare signalled the guards to pull open the doors, revealing a long narrow strip of carpet.

Aristocrats and noblemen bowed their heads in respect. Laurent looked forward, chin up, and focused all his attention on the two thrones situated at the far end of the room. Father took the larger and more exuberant throne while Laurent and Auguste stood on either side.

Laurent ignored the urge to wipe his clammy palms over his trousers. This was the easiest part of the night, he reminded himself.

The herald bowed to the king, and then turned towards the people. “ _Exalted, Damianos, Crowned Prince of Akielos_.”

Damen walked through the same double doors, strides commanding as he aired sovereignty and power. The gold laurel and red cape were the centerpiece of his look, bright and vibrant. He took a seat on the remaining throne.

Once settled, the herald read an announcement on the success of the Akielon and Veretian negotiations. Their nations were at peace with one another. They were to work together to make both their countries thrive.

The polite applause was harsh and ringing in Laurent’s ears.

King Aleron rose to his feet and the crowd hushed. His speech was succinct but delivered the same message: Akielos and Vere were now at peace and would work together to ensure both nations prospered.

When King Aleron sat down, it was a clear signal for the festivities to begin. Mingling voices grew progressively louder as people began to feast in endless dishes of Veretian delights. 

Servants set up a table and brought chairs for Laurent and Auguste to sit in.

Laurent cut into his portion of rabbit with the enthusiasm of a wet cat. He had no appetite, but etiquette called for him to compliment and sample each dish with all the grace and elegance befitting a young prince. They were all tasteless.

A chiming bell signaled the end of the twelve-course meal. Servants poured into the hall and quickly dispersed while the crowd of aristocrats filed into the antechambers meant for chatting and small talk. Another set of servants rearranged the hall, clearing the long tables for the dances. They left a scatter of round tables near the outskirts of the room full of refreshments.  

The musicians began to play a fast-paced Veretian tune and the crowd cheered and dispersed around the floor. King Aleron mumbled about getting wine and dismissed himself, three servants milling around him.

Auguste looked over at Laurent. “I have to make my obligatory rounds. Would you like to join me?”

_Yes, don’t leave me alone._ “No,” said Laurent instead. He could only hide behind his brother for so long. “Enjoy yourself.”

Auguste patted his forearm. “I’ll be around,” he said before descending the steps. The swarm of nobles caved to make space for him instantly, engulfing and pulling their Crowned Prince to fawn over him. Not for the first time, Laurent was glad he was not the heir.

From Laurent’s periphery, he saw a servant take away Damen’s plate. Laurent quickly scanned the banquet hall. From his vantage point, he spotted Lord Berenger at the far corner conversing with a redheaded Veretian performer swathed in green skills and jewels. Laurent had met the Lord several times over the past years. He  had recently inherited his family’s equine breeding program, something of genuine interest to Laurent. It was where the horses were breed and chosen for the Veretian army.

But most of all, Lord Berenger was a man of high rank whom Laurent could manage a lengthy conversation with for the painstakingly long duration of this evening.

Laurent was about to rise from his throne when a figure blocked his path. It was Damen, in all his handsome and well-dressed glory. This was the first time they were face-to-face in days and it took Laurent all his strength to stay composed and not make a mad dash down the marble steps. There was no way Laurent could avoid this. He was centre stage. The public would notice if he disappeared the moment Damen approached him.

Laurent forced his hands to loosen their tight grip on the armrest. He took a breath, steeling himself, and stood up. It brought their bodies a hair width apart. The distance between them was inappropriate for their rank and status, but Laurent did not waver. He tilted his head up and stared at Damen, challenging.

A beat later, Damen took a slow step backwards. It wasn’t much, but Laurent felt triumphant nonetheless.

“Laurent, may –”

“ _Prince_ Laurent.”  It was meant to hurt. The crestfallen expression on Damen’s face proved that it was indeed effective. Laurent made sure to hide that it caused him pain as well, as if he had cut himself open with his own weapon. 

“Prince Laurent,” Damen amended.  Whatever enthusiasm had previously laced his voice vanished. “May I have a word in private?” 

Laurent remained silent.

“A dance, then,” said Damen, quick enough for Laurent to see the desperation. “This music is similar to the one we heard at the Night Festival, no?”

_The Night Festival._ The reminder hurt like a slap in the face. Laurent had tried to put that evening out of his mind; the thrill of their rooftop chase, the wondrous indigo blue sky, the warm look Damen wore as the leaned in close and -

It was everything Laurent desired, but could no longer have.

The last thing Laurent wanted to do was dance with Damen. He couldn’t, without the constant reminders of what they could have been, of what they had, and know it would never be the same. One touch had the potential to ruin him.  
  
This was the vulnerability Laurent was wary of revealing. But Laurent, foolish and naive, had let Damen in and could do nothing but watch the destruction take its course. Now Laurent had to face the consequences.

The mere notion of denying Damen, a Crowned Prince of another nation, a dance was preposterous. To do so would not only damage Laurent’s own reputation – one he thought very little of – but shed a negative light on the royal family.

Laurent took a deep breath. _For_ Auguste. That was the reason he had put up with Damen’s company in the first place, was it not? He had been led astray, forgotten his purpose.

Laurent placed his palm into Damen’s hand and forced a smile. “A dance.”

They descended the wide marble stairs to the open area. A handful of dancers noticed their approach and moved back to create space. By the time Damen led Laurent to the centre of the room - in the middle of the tiled blue and gold starburst – the previous piece of music had finished. The lull in entertainment brought everyone’s attention to them.

Damen’s hand twitched, a hesitation, before he placed it on Laurent’s back. In response, Laurent settled his own hand on Damens upper arm near the shoulder. Their free hands laced together in the middle.

They waited in closed position, frozen, until a delicate soft melody began to flow and filled the high arching ceilings of the room. Laurent noted Damen’s cues and moved on instinct, easing himself into the pattern of steps and movements suited for this style of dance. He fixed his gaze on the golden lion pin and concentrated on his footwork, unwilling to acknowledge the fact that he was in Damen’s arms and the fact that the song they were dancing to was well-known for its romantic connotations. 

If it were anyone else, Laurent would have plastered an amiable expression on his face while staring off over his partner’s shoulder. He couldn’t disengage from the dance entirely this time; Damen’s height blocked his entire view of the ornamented walls. Laurent needed to focus on himself or else he’d be thinking about the warmth radiating from Damen’s body, the comfort of finally having his arms around -

“Will we not speak at all?” Damen asked, tone pitched low.

“You asked for a dance,” said Laurent, reluctant awareness that the initial stiffness in their posture had relaxed. “And a dance is all you’ll have.” 

“I just -” Damen paused as he had them transition into a different series of steps, drifting across the floor. “Don’t understand.”

“As I’ve heard you say plenty of times.”  
  
Laurent felt the shift of Damen’s muscle underneath his palm, tensing. “It’s all I _can_ say when all your responses are so vague and cryptic. I would like an explanation.” 

“Are you implying that I cannot deny your advances after you’ve started courting?” Laurent asked. “That I have to justify my actions to you? Why, how presumptuous of you.”

There was a pause in their conversation. Damen raised his arm so Laurent could turn underneath it. “You can do as you please,” said Damen. “My only wish is to know what went wrong.”

It took all of Laurent’s self control not to scoff in Damen’s face. It seemed almost impossible for Damen to be this _obtuse_. The anger and frustration Laurent managed to subdue prior to the dance came raging back, a uncontrolled wildfire sweeping through a forest.

They danced at a brisk pace. The small breeze generated at every turn on the dance floor was enough to coax the flames burning inside Laurent higher. 

“Have I made you uncomfortable?” Damen probed. 

It was water being poured over a grease fire.

On the next turn, Laurent made a deliberate decision to overstep to the left. The sudden shift in weight pulled Damen off balance. He stumbled, struggling against the momentum, not expecting the jarring motion.

The pair beside them was not bold enough to gasp, but their stunned expression told more or less the same thing. Damen wore a similar look.

“You asked for a dance in a situation where I cannot refuse. You grovel at my door like a dog, knowing I did not wish to be in your presence. Have you made me uncomfortable?” Laurent asked. “I’m sure you can answer that question yourself.” 

Laurent stepped off the dance floor and decided that he had enough dramatics for one day. He headed for the exit. 

A hand wrenched him back.

“Laurent.”

Laurent faced his brother. He already knew what this would be about. “It’s none of your concern.”

“It’s my concern when you choose to jeopardize Vere when the stakes are so high. I saw what happened. Damen didn’t trip in an act of carelessness.” Auguste furrowed his brow. “I thought you two were courting. Disagreements happen, but I thought a banquet would be the perfect occasion to bond and relax. Not to embarrass Damen, a man, need I remind you, that holds great power and influence. Laurent, what are you thinking?”

Laurent was not thinking.

The rare hint of disappointment in Auguste’s voice had Laurent flush red in shame. He curled his hands into fists. “You cannot court someone when you are to engaged to another.”

_That_ gave Auguste pause. “What?”

“Prince Damianos of Akielos will marry a woman once he returns to Akielos.”

“Laurent, what are you-”

“Can we _stop talking about it_ ,” said Laurent, hotly. “I won’t repeat myself. I can’t bear it.”

Laurent sidestepped Auguste and headed straight for the large glass doors leading outdoors. Let the court talk of his juvenile comportment. He would fabricate an appropriate story for his actions later.

Cool air refreshed Laurent’s face as he took his first breath of the gardens. He always had enjoyed the company of flowers compared to people - jubilant gatherings were more Auguste’s forte.

Laurent paused by the balustrade and looked out at the greenery, cast in shadows and darkness form the night. But the memories of Damen, the garden, and flowers were too intertwined. Laurent kept moving, long walking strides becoming a run, cutting through the gardens and down the winding path.

The few guards stationed outside the palace startled at Laurent’s unexpected entrance. They clambered over themselves to salute but Laurent paid them no mind. He continued onwards, body with a mind of its own, leading Laurent to some unknown destination. As long as it was away from the palace.

Laurent ended up near the base of a hill. He hunched over, bracing both hands over his knees and panting. When the realization of where exactly Laurent was hit him, he couldn’t reign in his laugh. It came out a dull sound at best. 

This was the outdoor training arena. The place where Laurent had his first encounter with Damen.

“Prince Laurent.”

Chains around Laurent’s heart tightened, unforgiving.

“Prince Damianos.”

A stalemate.

Damen and Auguste had spared with swords, a test of strength and skill. This time, it was Laurent who faced Damen. But this fight wouldn’t be physical. No, this battle would be fought with words.

“I –”

“I assume you could not come up with an answer,” Laurent interrupted him, referencing their earlier conversation. “Did you really believe chasing after me would garner you any favours?”

“Prince Laurent, I adored you the moment I met you. I courted – I _am_ courting you. I - ” Damen took a tentative step forward. “I wanted to marry you. I still want to marry you.” Damen squared his shoulders. “I couldn’t let you leave.”

“So you choose to harass me instead.”

“There is no reason for your hostility,” said Damen, shaking his head. “For someone so well-versed in speaking, I would assume you’d be better at communicating.”

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “Then hear me loud and clear: Vere needed an alliance with Akielos and you were the key to securing our trade deals. It was worth enduring your fumbling attentions for that.”

Damen took a sharp breath and staggered back.

Laurent spotted the opening and lunged to attack, knowing it would hurt them both. “I would never marry you. Not of my free will.”

“You’re lying,” Damen choked out, far more broken than it ought to be. “You’re lying. I know you, I’ve seen the way you are around me. Lau- Prince Laurent. _Please_ – ”

“I am not sure how it is in Akielos, but it is improper to court royalty when involved in other affairs. That is the answer to your question.”

Damen grew wide-eyed. But before he could speak, Laurent continued. He went for the kill.

“When you return to Akielos,” Laurent continued. “You are not to write to me. If you do, I will order my servants to put it in the fire the moment it arrives. You may have gained your alliance with Vere, but you have lost your alliance with me.”

It hurt to walk away. Each step was like twisting a knife into an open wound, an all-consuming pain that throbbed until it was no more than a dull numbness. Laurent reigned in the tears welled in his eyes and let his heart crumble to dust.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many of you may have thought I abandoned this fic, but I want to see this through to the end!
> 
> Life hasn't been very kind with me the past year so writing and fandom were put on the back burner for a long time. I've overcome a lot of difficulties and I'm very proud of the progress I made. Now I feel ready to come back.
> 
> Sorry to leave you all with the cliffhanger last chapter, and I guess with THIS chapter as well??!? Don't worry, this is as worse as it gets. The next and _final_ chapter will have a happy ending! 
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience and encouragements! I appreciate every single kudos and comment, you don't even know <3


	13. A Kingdom or This

Laurent and Auguste were seated around a wooden desk in their private study. They worked in amicable silence, meticulously perusing their respective paperwork. The mindless task of recopying forms and reading reports was the reprieve Laurent needed after the constant flurry of activities the past few months.

The departure of the Akielon delegation took place with little ceremony. It required no active participation on Laurent’s part - his attendance was merely a formality. The moment Laurent, Auguste and King Aleron arrived in the courtyard, Laurent fixed his gaze on the blue stream of banners hanging on the battlements, refusing to risk unintentional acknowledgement of the man he was avoiding. Laurent remembered the heralds reaffirming the alliance, the scattered applause, and the Veretian soldiers forming two rows on either side of the gate as the Akielons rode out.

Laurent had not realized the ceremony had finished until Auguste clasped his shoulder, leading him back into the palace. Laurent remembered wanting to look back, just to see if Damen was -

He shook his head, realizing that his thoughts drifted back to dangerous territories. Laurent reorganized the papers in front of him as he chided himself. There was no point in such unproductive thinking. It wasn’t as if Damen would _return_ to him, like the romantic novels shelved in the library. This was real life.

Damen made his choices. But it hurt, nonetheless, to know that Damen did not choose him.   

A servant – no, a runner – burst through the doors. He threw himself down on one knee, head bowed, as he tried to catch his breath. “Your Highnesses,” he gasped. “I was sent to deliver an urgent message from the fort’s household in Marches.”

Laurent frowned at the abrupt entrance and set his papers aside.

Marches was the home of the Veretian mint. Laurent had read the province’s report a month prior with no noted concerns. Metals and minting supplies were in well order. There were no signs of rebellious activity, and the grain and harvest rations were in full. Laurent couldn’t rationalize any pressing issue that justified sending a runner. The most Laurent remembered was of a request to rebuild a dock near –

His train of thought skidded to a stop.

While Marches was known for minting Veretian currency, they also had the largest harbour in Vere. And it so happened that a certain group of ambassadors were travelling by ship –

“What is it?” said Laurent before Auguste could utter a word. 

“There has been an incident with the Akielon delegation,” the runner began. “The Crowned Prince of Akielos refused to board their vessel. Since the Akielons have not been formally invited to remain on our lands for more than their stay in Arles, he has been taken prisoner.”

Laurent replayed the words in his mind but couldn’t make sense of them.

“Prince Damianos has been taken prisoner,” said Auguste. It sounded more like a question than a statement.

The runner nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“That is quite a predicament,” said Laurent, taking care to articulate his words, trying to process the situation. “And what does Marches wish for the palace to do?”

“They believe that a Veretian of royal descent is best suited to handle such delicate affairs.” 

Laurent froze at the prospect of seeing Damen. He couldn’t face him, not after the banquet that left his heart in tatters. Marches asked for someone that was royalty. That meant it didn’t have to be him. They could send Auguste instead and he… No. They couldn’t. Because – 

“I leave for Acquitart tomorrow,” said Auguste, and Laurent let out a long breath. The increase in conflicts around the Acquitart borders called for Auguste to investigate. If any interventions were required, Auguste would remain there until the matter was resolved.

Sending the King of Vere to Marches was out of question. The only person available was Laurent. “I will depart for Marches,” he decided. He would not allow personal issues to conflict with his responsibility as a prince. “Notify the household of my imminent arrival.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The runner bowed and hurried off.

The moment they were alone, Auguste faced him.

“Laurent –”

“I can handle myself,” he said. “I am going there for business, not to – ” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Auguste leaned back against his chair. “What you said about Damen at the banquet...” Laurent opened his mouth to speak but Auguste raised a hand to stop him. “Listen to me. You’ve made it clear that you don’t wish to discuss the topic, but I need to know what happened.

“I have seen Damen speak to you, Laurent. I have also heard Damen speak _about_ you. What you’ve told me that night contradicts all of his actions. I did not think of him as the type who would be unfaithful, especially to you.” 

Laurent hesitated, feeling the letter in his jacket pocket throb as he withdrew it. He knew it seemed rather counterproductive, almost self-destructive, to keep the letter. But the reminder of Damen’s betrayal helped him cope through the hurt. Channelling his energy into ire and spite was far better than thinking of the alternative. Of the childish and naive hope that Laurent could prove somehow, in someway, the letter was a lie. 

Auguste took it from him, speculation colouring his expression. Laurent watched as Auguste’s eyes scanned the paper. “He hurt you,” said Auguste.

Laurent didn’t have to confirm it. 

Auguste’s fingers gripped the letter tight enough to wrinkle the edges. “I’ll come with you to Marches,” said Auguste with finality. “Damen and I made an agreement. I gave him my blessing, and he broke his word. He _hurt_ you.”

“Auguste,” said Laurent, unsure of what else to say. He had never seen him anger so quickly.

“Damen said he’d rather die by his own hand than harm you.” Auguste stood up. “I’d like to see if he keeps those words or if I need to challenge his honour.”

“No,” Laurent held Auguste back by the wrist. The outcome of one-on-one combat could bear fatal consequences. Laurent thought of Auguste sprawled on the floor under the mercy of Damen’s sword. It was terrifying to imagine what would happen next. Despite Damen’s treachery, the last thing Laurent wanted was a duel between them. “I understand that you’re upset. So am I. But we cannot put you or the new alliance at risk. Let me go to Marches and confront him. You have your own duty in Acquitart.”

Laurent saw a flicker of hesitation in Auguste’s eyes. He placed a hand over Auguste’s to placate him. “Vere needs you. Right now, I need my brother to focus on our country.”

Auguste’s eyes flitted between Laurent and the letter, as if coming to a decision. “If you’re sure,” said Auguste, after a pause. He sat back in his chair, shoulders dropping. “I trust your judgment.”

“I’m sure,” Laurent replied. He held back a sigh of relief. “I’ll write to you.”

 

* * *

 

The journey would take a week of travel. Two, if the weather proved to be difficult. Laurent’s entourage consisted of Jord and five other members of the Prince’s Guard - all hand chosen by Auguste. There was a wagon in case Laurent desired rest and camping supplies as a precautionary measure. The plan was to take shelter at local inns, but it was best to be prepared for any circumstance.

Laurent rode with four soldiers stationed around him on all sides. Jord remained by his side as the other soldier, Lazar, trailed behind with the wagon. It was all rather extreme in Laurent’s opinion, but he understood the necessity of it. 

To their luck, the roads were clear and they made fast time. A little after high noon, they stopped by a stream to let the horses rest and recharge. Laurent stood beneath the shade of a tree, stroking Éloise’s flank as she drank from the clear flowing water.

In spite of the objective of Laurent’s journey, he couldn’t help the slight burst of excitement over the expedition. This was Laurent's first time leaving the palace on his own. The freedom and responsibility of it was daunting.

Laurent wondered if Auguste had a similar sentiment all those years ago. He was too young to remember his brother’s first independent mission out of the palace, but knowing Auguste - who had no flaws or weakness - he embraced the experience. Laurent would strive to do the same. 

The sound of scuffling over Laurent’s left shoulder caught his attention a second before he heard a soldier yell, “Your Highness!” 

Laurent whipped around, hand gripped tight around the hilt of his sword.

“I found a stowaway in our wagon.” Lazar hauled a boy - no, a very cross _Nicaise_ \- into view, holding him up by the wrist. Nicaise dangled, balancing on his tip toes.

“Unhand me, you mutated donkey,” Nicaise spat, struggling to get out of Lazar’s grasp. “I am worth three times more than you could ever be.”

Laurent sighed, unamused yet unsurprised by the never-ending slew of novel complications.

“Unhand him,” said Laurent with a dismissive wave. “He will cause no harm.” Probably. There were no forks in their near vicinity.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Lazar released Nicaise and pushed him towards Laurent. “Show some respect to your Prince,” he warned before retreating back to the wagon.  

“I don’t remember inviting you,” said Laurent, eyebrow raised. 

“I’m aware. That’s why I invited myself. ” Nicaise crossed his arms. “I heard you were going to Marches. I want to come.”

“Does your father know your whereabouts?”

Nicaise held up both his arms, bangles and bracelets full of gold and jewels jingled at the movement. “He said that if I could sell three quarters of these on my way, he wouldn’t mind.”

Laurent couldn’t very well send him back to Arles. They had already passed Chastillon and it would waste a day to return. Perhaps Laurent would enjoy some company. While Laurent knew the soldiers respected him, it was evident they felt unease in his presence for too long. Engaging in casual conversation with the Prince of Vere was inconceivable. Niciase was brash. Nicaise didn’t speak to Laurent as if he were a royalty. That in itself was the kind of fresh air and distraction Laurent needed.  

“Alright,” said Laurent and Nicaise whooped with joy. “As long as you don’t bribe my soldiers into purchasing your jewellery.”

Nicaise grinned. “Deal.”

The announcement of an additional member to their party had mixed reactions among the soldiers. They mumbled their assent, but were reluctant to have a high-born child join them. Laurent heard no audible complaints and accepted it for what it was.

When it was time to depart, Laurent mounted Éloise first. He reached down to pull Nicaise up and behind him, riding pillion. Two small hands gripped onto the fabric of Laurent’s doublet. Nicaise’s toes did not reached the stirrups. Laurent nodded to Jord, signaling that he was ready.

Laurent noticed Nicaise’s grip tighten as the horses began to trot. “Is this your first time on horseback outside of an enclosure?”

“Shut up,” said Nicaise. “I’m not scared.” 

“I never said you were scared,” Laurent mused.

“Well,” Nicaise retorted. “This is worth bearing if I can see you punch Damen in the face. I was also hoping to spit on him too. You might have to kick him so he falls on the floor though. I’m not tall enough to reach yet.”

“There will be no physical violence,” said Laurent, heart squeezing at the mention of Damen. “I am to resolve an issue that happens to involve the Prince of Akielos. Nothing more.”

“Whatever you say,” said Nicaise, sing-song like.

They took rest once they reached the province of Barbin. The innkeeper nearly tripped over himself at the sight of Laurent walking through the main entrance. A large feast of meats, breads, and cheeses were prepared for them. Laurent was entertained by Nicaise’s disgruntled expression as he picked at a stuffed bird, grumbling about how he was too sophisticated to eat food with bones still intact.

Laurent was given the best and largest room while the other men stayed in the outbuildings. Nicaise was offered accommodations, but an hour into the night, found his way to Laurent.

“Why do you think Damen stayed behind?” Nicaise asked. They were seated around the fireplace, watching the flames lick dry timber.

Laurent had an idea, but extinguished the ludicrous flare of hope as soon as it it came to him.

“Speculation is fruitless.”

“It’s not fair,” Nicaise picked up the fire iron to poke at the wood, causing the ember to spark. “You don’t deserve to be sad.”

Something about the innocuousness and simplicity of Nicaise’s words touched Laurent in more ways than one. It was a reminder that Nicaise was still a child, though a clever one. “Well that’s nice of you,” said Laurent. Nicaise wouldn’t respond well to sentiment. Sarcasm and insults were his primary means of communication. “In fact, I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”  
  
Nicaise scowled and elbowed Laurent’s side. “Don’t get used to it.” 

Laurent turned towards the fire, unable to resist a smile. “I’d never.”

 

* * *

 

Marches was known for its gentle sloping hills and long stretches of flatlands in between its low sweeping valleys. The main fort stood on top of the highest peak, a centerpiece overlooking the Ellosean sea.

This was Laurent’s first visit to Marches. While the defensive fort was not the most grandiose establishment Laurent had seen, its first impressions still granted appreciation. Solid brick walls and crenels were crafted with an air of elegance only Veretian architecture managed to convey.

Laurent and his entourage approached, traveling on the winding road up to their destination. As soon as they were in sighting distance, the sound of horns rang out. A blue starburst banner rose over the battlement, signalling the arrival of Veretian royalty.

They entered the fort and dismounted, handing over their reins to the stablemen before proceeding into the inner courtyard. Indoors, the fort’s household gathered in a room with high arching ceilings.

“Your Highness,” greeted Lord Jehan, a middle aged man with greying brown hair. “We are humbled and honoured by your presence. We thank you for your quick response.”

“The honour is mine,” said Laurent. 

“We understand if you wish to rest before delving into serious matters. Let us show you and your soldiers to our residential quarters.”

“I thank you for the hospitality,” said Laurent. “But I would prefer handling business readily. Where is the Crowned Prince of Akielos?” 

“He is confined in a cell in the west wing,” Lord Jehan’s wife chimed in. “He has been calm and cooperative thus far. We hope your presence can lead to more productive resolutions. He has been...adamant about seeking your audience, Your Highness.”

Laurent forced his body to relax. _Just business. Nothing more._

“Lead me to him,” he said.

  

* * *

 

The prison cells were kept underground. Laurent did not know what to expect as he descended the spiraling stone steps, feeling the temperature drop. The idea of reuniting with Damen, and facing the reality of him were two drastically different things. He felt his confidence waver as he passed through the first set of doors, opening to a narrow corridor with lamps lining the walls. 

Two guards stood at attention when Laurent arrived at the second door. “He is inside, Your Highness,” one of them said.

“Stand guard,” said Laurent. “No one is to interrupt us.”

With that, the guards moved to the side for Laurent to enter.

Given the fort’s close proximity to the coast where pirates and raiders were a common threat, the prison had ample space for captives. There was only one person there: Damen, who sat with his back against the bars, head hidden in his hands. He was held in the largest cell, used for political prisoners. It was clean and had sufficient accommodations - a couch with pillows, a selection of seasonal fruits, a water pitcher. A cot was stationed in the corner, though it appeared too small for someone of Damen’s size. 

The sound of a creaking door had Damen looking up.

“Prince Laurent,” he said, tone akin to wonder. He leapt up from the couch, staring at Laurent as if to see whether he was a figment of his imagination.“You came.”

Laurent arranged himself against the wall, crossing his arms and propping one leg up for casual support. “I came in the interest of Vere. Your presence has been a disruption to Marches and I was tasked to rectify it.”

“You came,” Damen said, softer. “That’s all that matters.”

Laurent cleared his throat. “I came here for business, Prince Damianos, and nothing more. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Damen, a little deflated. “I understand.”

“Then talk.”

Damen sat down on the couch, hands braced on his knee. “It was my choice,” he said. “We were boarding the ship and I…couldn’t leave. It didn’t feel right, not with the rift between us.” He laughed, but there was no humour in it. “I overstayed my welcome. I’m here because, well...” He looked up at Laurent with an expression that Laurent did not want to analyze. “I’m here in case you wanted me.”

“Was your goal to incite war immediately after establishing a peace treaty? Because if it was, you are well on your way to accomplishing it.”

“There will not be war,” said Damen.

Laurent tilted his head. “What will Akielos think, when they hear that their delegation returns sans heir to the throne? I doubt they’d be pleased to hear that their Crowned Prince was thrown into a prison cell.”

“That was what Nikandros said as well.” Damen grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I convinced him to handle the reaction back at Ios. He will manage on my behalf until my return.”

“Congratulations,” said Laurent. “You wasted not only your time, but my own. I will arrange for the household to have you released without charges. Consider this a token of my generosity.”

Damen stood up with clenched hands. “Don’t talk to me as if what we had meant nothing to you.” 

Laurent pushed off the wall, his facade of indifference cracking like broken glass. “You tarnished our courtship the moment you arranged to marry your finacée.”

“ _Who_?” Damen asked, irritation making itself known. “I have no recollection whatsoever about acquiring a fiancée.”

Laurent all but tore the letter from his jacket and threw it between the bars. “Then explain this.” 

Damen bent down to retrieve it, turning it side to side with furrowed brows. He unfolded it, and took a moment to read its content, long enough that Laurent suspected he read the letter twice. It gave Laurent pause. Why was Damen acting as if he had not seen this before?

“There has been a mistake,” said Damen, loud enough to echo. “I have never seen this letter in my life. Where did you find this?”

This was a jest. It had to be. There was no -

“I...Nicaise,” said Laurent, words stumbling out of his mouth. “He gave it to me. He-he said he found it in your room.”

“Unopened?” 

Laurent hesitated, frozen in place. He did not know. “Guard,” Laurent called out, ignoring the small quiver in his voice. “Bring Niciase.”

They stood in utter silence as they waited for Nicaise’s arrival, air so thick that Laurent thought he might choke on it. Laurent became acutely aware of his respiration as he took slow, controlled breaths. He didn’t look at Damen. Couldn’t.

It felt like an eternity before Laurent heard the steady fall of footsteps. Nicaise shoved the door open. In his hands, two forks. “Just hold him down and I’ll give him a stab,” said Nicaise.

“Put the forks away,” said Laurent. He felt an imminent headache looming, exacerbated by Nicaise’s antics. “Nicaise, how did you get the letter?”

Nicaise heard the solemnity in Laurent’s voice and put the forks down on the uneven stone flooring. “I found it in his bedchamber.”

“Was it opened?”

“No,” said Nicaise, drawing out the word. “But I heard rumours around the city that Damen was engaged to some foreigner. I had to see if it was true.”

“ _Foreigner_?” Damen threw his hands in the air, pacing back and forth. “I am not marrying Jokaste. I haven’t even met her!”

“And what of the gold laurels?” Laurent demanded.

Damen paused mid-step, eyes wide. “Kastor must have misread my previous letter. I must not have specified who they were for. He probably assumed...” Damen groaned, running a frustrated hand through his dark curls.  “The laurels were meant for _you_ , Your Highness.” He stopped moving, shoulders sagging in defeat. “They were always intended for you.”

The dawning realization of what just transpired crashed into Laurent like a tidal wave. Laurent opened his mouth, searching for words, for something to say. No sound came out. His hands were shaking. He couldn't think.

“I-I can’t,” Laurent stuttered out.

He needed some air. He -

Laurent turned on his heels and left. He needed distance. It was impossible to grasp onto his spiraling thoughts when the overwhelming sense of mortification and joy and _hope_ rivaled the pounding of his heart.

In his hurry to get away, Laurent all but trampled over a servant stationed at the top of the stairs. The servant ushered Laurent to the guest bedchamber, spewing out a thousand apologies in the process, before leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Laurent pressed a hand against the wall and hunched over, out of breath. His mind was a tangled knot of confusion but there was one singular thought that persisted over and over.

_Damen wasn’t going to marry someone else._

This was everything Laurent wanted, everything he told himself not to hope for. And now it was in front of him, ready for the taking. The hesitancy that emerged after such a revelation was unexpected, leaving him at a loss. What if Laurent was being deceived again? He could barely handle the gut-wrenching devastation of thinking that Damen had toyed with his feelings. Laurent wouldn’t manage a second time. Laurent considered pushing Damen away, acting on his instinctual response to build up his walls and let no one in. That way, he would never be hurt again. Things would be easier.

Was Damen worth the risk?

“Laurent?” Nicaise’s voice was small and hesitant at the doorway. He crept closer. “If you need to be angry at someone, it should be at me.”

The shock was enough to have Laurent straighten. “I’m not angry.” Not at Nicaise. Whatever anger Laurent harboured for Damen had vanished, leaving a trail of confusion and bewilderment in its place. 

Nicaise wrung his hands, an atypical behaviour. “It’s my fault. I wanted to help you and ended up making things worse.”

Laurent turned the words over, feeling his jackhammering heartbeats subside. “The rumours were there before you found the letter, were they not?” 

“Yes,” said Nicaise.

“Then you have done nothing with ill-intention. If I did not hear from the letter, then it would have been from some other source. Nicaise,” said Laurent until the boy made eye contact. “I’m not mad. At you or at Damen. I just need space to think.”

“Alright,” said Nicaise. 

Laurent sat on the bed. With the adrenaline gone, he was tired, energy drained. Laurent patted the space beside him for Nicaise. “What’s going to happen now?” Nicaise asked him. 

Laurent imagined the future he thought he’d lost. Looking back at his actions, Laurent was almost certain he had ruined his chances. But by some miracle, Damen was still there, waiting. _In case you wanted me,_ Damen had said.

For the first time, Laurent considered the possibility of making amends.

It was salvageable.

“I think you know,” said Laurent.

Nicaise smirked and flopped on the bed. “Are you going to go back and see him? If yes, I want to keep your room.”

“Not tonight,” said Laurent. He wouldn’t let his emotions overthrow his rational mind. He would approach this with diligence. “It’s best to have a night for reflection.” 

The pause in conversation was a comfortable one. Laurent joined Nicaise and lied down on is back next to him. They both staring at the ceiling.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Nicaise blurted out.  And then sheepishly, a confession: “I don’t like being alone.”

 _Only ten years old_ , Laurent thought. He was the same as a child, running to Auguste’s room at every possible instant. “Stay as long as you like.”

Laurent lolled his head to the side, taking the chance to relax. The inns were tolerable, but he slept poorly. Laurent had taken his comfortable bed in Arles for granted.

Something caught his eye, in the far corner. It was a chessboard, its pieces set up and shining on a table. Warmth melted the bitter cold resentment Laurent held for chess after the banquet. He hadn’t touched it since then.

Laurent eyed Nicaise, shifting his fingers through the frills on one of the pillows. He looked back at the chessboard. They had similar interests. Perhaps it was time to introduce Nicaise to a new pastime.

“Have you ever heard of chess, Nicaise?”

“The game?” Niciase wrinkled his nose. “It sounds boring.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Laurent offered, a genuine smiling making its appearance. “I think you’d be a natural.”

 

* * *

 

Laurent woke up just shy of dawn, feeling settled. He spent the night examining, organizing, and sorting through all his nerves and thoughts from the day before. Now, he knew what to do.

His decision brought him in front of the prison cell.

“Good morning,” said Laurent.

“Good morning,” said Damen. He moved forward until they were pressed together, mirror images of each other. The only thing that separated them was the metal bars. 

“You are an idiot.”

Damen blinked.

“You are an idiot,” Laurent repeated. “Your impulsivity and recklessness could have led to grave repercussions. What would happen if you were kept in Vere? Your reputation would be tarnished. Akielons would question your ability to rule. You could have jeopardized your right to the throne.” 

Laurent steeled himself. “You risked everything. Why? ”

Damen reached a hand out through the bars. Laurent stared down at the offering, heartbeat doubling as he slowly reached out, in case this was all a dream and Damen would disappear before him. The warmth and solidity Laurent felt when their hands laced together refuted all doubt. Laurent glanced back up at Damen, demure.

Damen squeezed his hand, eyes alight with sincere affection.

“A kingdom or this,” said Damen, like it was that simple. “You know my choice.”

Laurent’s heart leapt, bursting with an inexplicable feeling.

“Release the Prince of Akielos,” said Laurent without looking away from Damen, eyes exchanging more than words could express.

The clinking of keys. The screech of the metal chains, pulling the prison bars upward.

The anticipation.

And then Laurent was pulled into Damen’s embrace. Strong arms wrapped around Laurent’s waist, holding onto him tight. Laurent buried his face into Damen’s shoulder and breathed the smell of familiarity. He could feel the steady beats of Damen’s heart, grounding him.

Laurent lifted his eyes to meet Damen’s. “I missed you,” he said with unbridled urgency. “I missed our conversations. I miss – all of this.”

“There will be no lies between us,” said Damen. A promise. “No more misunderstandings.”

The words poured out of Laurent, a dam unleashed. “Every word I said at the banquet was false. I let speculation take over all my thoughts and reached unwarranted conclusions. I should have - ”

“You didn’t know. I didn’t know.” Damen ran his fingers through Laurent’s hair. Laurent barely held back a shudder. “What’s important is that we are reunited.” His tone deepened, growing serious. “Prince Laurent, I have dallied with lovers in the past, but you are irreplaceable in my heart. It’s never felt like this. Please believe me.” 

“I believe you,” said Laurent. And then: “You frighten me, Damianos, but I have never felt more safe. It confuses me. I think of you, of everything that’s happening between us, and it makes me feel –” 

“I know,” said Damen. “I feel it too.”  
  
Damen tucked a strand of Laurent’s hair behind his ear before pulling back. Laurent desperately wished to close the distance. “I prefer to do this in a formal fashion, but I hope you don’t mind if we divert from tradition.”

He took off the gold laurel balanced on his head. “Prince Laurent. Through the months I have been in Vere, I have had the privilege to know your heart. I have come to learn your intelligence, your kindness, and your devotion to your people. There is still so much I do not know but hope to understand. Accept me as yours, and I vow to work my whole life to be worthy of you. ”

“Yes,” said Laurent, dizzy with elation. “Yes, Damen.”

Damen crowned Laurent with the laurel.  “Laurent,” Damen whispered, reverent.

“ _Kiss me_.”

Damen cupped Laurent’s face in both hands. “Laurent,” he repeated, and pressed a kiss to Laurent’s forehead. “My betrothed. My world.” Each word was punctuated with a kiss. On both eyelids. His cheeks. 

“My love,” Damen murmured, before leaning in to kiss Laurent on the mouth.

Laurent gasped into it, his whole world narrowing to the sensation of _Damen_. The way his hand found its way to Laurent’s nape, cradling his head as their kiss deepened. The way Damen kissed; soft and intimate exchanges that had Laurent pulling him closer, closer. Being with Damen felt _right,_ a bone-deep certitude that had Laurent kiss back in earnest.

Minutes and hours and years later, they found themselves holding each other, both unwilling to break apart. Their foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, catching their breaths. Laurent basked in Damen’s presence, contentment filling every crevice of his body.

When they finally ascended the spiraling stairs, they were greeted with the sunrise, a wondrously vivid display of red and orange hues. Laurent looked at Damen and could almost feel the rays of light glowing from within him. The burgeoning warmth of something new, precious, and welcome.

It felt like coming home.

 

* * *

 

There was much to be done. Priority measures had Laurent write a letter to Auguste, detailing the events in Marches at length to reassure him that all was well. Damen wrote his own letter to Kastor, ensuring that its contents were clear and concise with no chance of false interpretation.

They agreed that official arrangements had to be discussed and made in Arles. Damen would accompany Laurent back to the palace and reside there until a preliminary plan was in place. Then, back to Akielos.

Many questions needed to be addressed. Would Laurent stay in Akielos or journey between the two countries at intervals? What traditions and ceremonies from their cultures would be kept and performed? Where would they be located? 

Once Auguste returned from Acquitart, Laurent was sure to include him in the decision making process. Auguste was Laurent’s confidante, his mentor, and his best friend. His contributions to Laurent’s life, past and present, would always matter. Their lives would always be intertwined. Laurent couldn’t imagine a future without his brother by his side.

There was much to be done, but Laurent never shied away from the challenge of work. 

Laurent and Damen left Marches the following day. They rode side-by-side, Jord and the soldiers from the Prince’s Guard trailing behind. Nicaise slept in the wagon, worn out after he managed to sell all his jewellery. Nicaise claimed he would use his coins to buy the most expensive chess set money could buy. _Only so I can practice and defeat you_ , he said.

Laurent looked forward to that day.

They reached a clearing a few hours later. The field of lush green grass swayed under the gentle breeze in greeting. Smatterings of wildflowers grew under the dappled shade of tall trees. Somewhere from above, birds twittered and gossiped, harmonies mingling to create the most delightful sounds.

“It’s beautiful,” said Laurent. 

“Yes,” Damen agreed, drawing their horses close together. He leaned over, fingers tilting Laurent’s chin up so their eyes met. “Beautiful.”

Laurent blushed. Damen made the same comment in the stables, the day he brought Laurent picnicking in the woods. The memory left a fond impression.

A piece of their conversations that day sprang into Laurent’s mind.

 _Maybe you could help me name my horse,_ said Damen. _He needs one._  

The most ridiculous thought came to Laurent. He covered his mouth, trying desperately to repress his laugh.

Damen noticed, of course. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Laurent’s blush deepened at the pet name. “You asked me to find a name for your black stallion,” he said.

Damen smiled. “I recall.”

“I found the perfect one.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

A beat of silence.

“Lamen.”

Damen threw his head back in laughter. It had Laurent laughing too, satisfied and a little smug at Damen’s positive reaction. “I like it,” said Damen. “It’s settled.” 

“Where is my reward?” Laurent asked, teasing. “You ought to thank me for my help.”

Damen brought Laurent’s hand to his lips. “Name your reward. I will retrieve it for you.”

“There’s no need,” said Laurent. “Everything I want is in front of me.”

Their lips found each other on their own accord, meeting precisely halfway. It was simple and sweet. With it, Laurent felt exquisite joy.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two years ago, I posted the first chapter of this fanfic. Today, I post the last. 
> 
> What a ride. I can't believe it. There are _so many people_ that I need to thank... my beta for her tremendous support and advice, my friends for their constant encouragement, and every single person that has left kudos, comments, and/or read the story. I never thought I would be able to finish a multi-chapter fic but here I am! This fic has been with me through the best and worse of times (it's literally my baby) and I'm grateful to be able to share the journey with you all  <3
> 
> On a final note, come say hi on tumblr @laurentshair!


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